


Music Keeps Calling Me

by sojustifiable



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Car Sex, Crack, F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot Collection, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5559086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sojustifiable/pseuds/sojustifiable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of SoMa one shots ranging from pre-canon fluff to explicit material.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More Like Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from tumblr: Clean this apartment right now!   
> Food fight fluff

Soul shuffles sleepily into the kitchen when he smells pancakes. Maka is humming along to the radio, some oldies station, and dancing with her spatula as she flips them out of the frying pan, apparently unaware of his new presence in the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

She freezes and turns around slowly with her spatula in one hand and a batter covered spoon in the other.

“Nice dancing,” Soul comments smugly when she doesn’t say anything.

“You saw nothing,” she mutters, her face turning an increasingly dark shade of fuchsia.

“Oh I saw everything,” he laughs, “you have nothing on me.”

Her eyes grow increasingly wide and increasingly angry and she reaches out slowly to smear a line of pancake batter on his face with her spoon. “Oops.”

“You did not,” he growls; Maka is somewhere between amused and anticipatory of his reaction. Soul grabs another spoon, dips it in the batter, and smears it from her hair line, down her nose to her chin.

“Oh it is on,” Maka turns off the oven and grabs the bag of flour, throwing a handful at him.

She’s furious and he’s cackling, but they’re both making a huge mess of the kitchen. He may have crossed a line cracking an egg on her head though.

“Okay, that was uncalled for, Soul; I just washed my hair.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before smearing batter on my face,” he smirks, but the fury is slowly being replaced by dejection on her face. “You did start it.”

“Well now I’m finishing it,” she snaps and returns to the abandoned pancakes on the stove, picking one out of the pan and eating it. “We should probably clean up in here,” she says solemnly.

“You should probably deal with your hair first,” Soul suggests, “you might not want that drying in there.” She shoots him a look that could kill; he may have the resting bitch face of the century but Maka is another story. “Just wait a second,” he adds hastily.

He runs to the bathroom to wash the batter off his face and returns with Maka’s shampoo, a towel, and the desk chair from his room. She’s washing her face and hands in the sink when he returns. He drags the chair in front of the kitchen sink and lays the towel over the edge of the sink. “Sit.”

She looks skeptical but sits down in the offered chair, her face flushed from vigorous washing; water beads and slides down her neck, dampening her shirt. He pushes her shoulders back against the counter and leans her head into the sink, adjusting the towel around her neck. “You didn’t want to take another shower, right?” he says and starts the water running.

“I can do it myself,” she grumbles, and tries to reach behind her for the detachable nozzle.

“Yeah right, you’re going to dislocate your arm,” he scowls and takes it from her, “how hot do you want the water.”

“Warm, but not too hot.”

He knows her request is more for the sake of his hands than her scalp; Maka likes her showers scalding enough to use up all the hot water in an impressively short amount of time. But he takes her request at face value and turns on the water to a temperature he can tolerate before slowly turning the water on her hair. He tips her head a little further back to help the water run down her hair and neck rather than onto her face, but he still splashes her a little and she lets him know it.

“You know, I think egg is supposed to actually be good for your hair,” she murmurs, her eyes drifting shut as she relaxes under the warm water.

“You want me to leave it in then?” he jokes; She shakes her head, cautious not to spray water everywhere.

“Alright then,” he says and squeezes out a generous amount of shampoo, lathering it in her hair. He loves the smell of her shampoo; he’s used to smelling it on her hair when it’s dry but it’s much stronger now, like honey and fresh lilacs. With her eyes closed he’s free to admire and examine her face in a way that he usually reserves for when she’s dozed off on the couch in the middle of a movie. The morning light reveals different shadows on her face than the ones he’s used to though, and he has to memorize them while she isn’t paying attention. He starts to rinse out the suds, hands moving delicately around her ears to wipe away stray foam.

“I think there’s some flour in your hair,” her eyes flash open and he’s caught, staring at her, probably with some dopey, love sick expression on his face.

“How can you tell? My hair is also white,” he mumbles and casts his eyes back to her hair, rinsing out the last of the suds.

“Your hair is a different shade, less like flour and more like fog.”

She reaches her hands up to brush through his hair, dusting lose a bit of flour that falls down on her face, making her scrunch up her nose. He expects her hands to drop from his head but instead they’re tangled in his hair. She starts pulling him slowly towards her and he turns the water off on the way down. He could probably count her eyelashes as she tilts her face up to him.

_Oh._

She smells like honey but tastes like chocolate, had there been chocolate chips in the pancakes? Were there any left? He braces one arm against the back of the chair and savors the feeling of her soft lips against his, however brief her kiss is.

“I think your hair is clean,” he breathes into her as she pulls away, boring holes into his head with green eyes that know him too well.

“We should probably clean the rest of the kitchen then,” she murmurs. But while her words are purposeful, her hands are still cradling his face, and her eyes are cast down at his mouth, which he’s pretty sure is a little slack jawed.

He leans his forehead down to bump hers, “probably,” he echoes her, but echoes her actions as well with another kiss that he could get addicted to.

“Probably.”


	2. You Can Bring Me Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowershop AU

The bell on the door tinkles, announcing his arrival.

“He’s here again,” Liz mutters into her ear. Maka freezes; the ‘he’ in question is one very regular customer in the shop who makes a weekly purchase of irises. Apparently he is a very devoted boyfriend.

“Good morning,” Maka says cheerfully; Liz gives her a wink and darts into the back room. “Having a good day?”

“Yeah it’s been fine.” His voice is low and soft, and makes her think of the last clap of thunder as a storm is leaving to the north. “Are you up to anything fun this weekend?”

It’s the kind of question that could seem flirtatious if he wasn’t buying flowers for his mystery girlfriend – or maybe she was just reading into things because he’s tall, and has a deep voice, and a wicked smile that makes her face flame up.

“I’m working in the morning, but then I’ll probably just catch up on some reading in the evening,” she says. Better to make sure he knows she’s free, just in case.

He snorts. “You’re such a nerd.”

She frowns; his grin is a little lopsided and a lot twisted, but she finds it somehow alluring.

“I’m assuming you want your regular order then?” She lifts up the counter to come out from behind the desk to select some irises.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He runs his hands through white hair, looking a little confused; he could be so hard to read. She cuts the stems of the flowers and wraps them in tissue paper; she can feel his dark red eyes watching her

He pays for the flowers and leaves; Maka sighs and Liz comes back from the back room.

“He was flirting with you!” Liz prods her shoulder jokingly. “You should flirt back!”

“He was not flirting,” Maka says indignantly, “and if he was, I wouldn’t respond because he’s pretty obviously taken.”

“But you think he’s cute,” Liz coos.

“Maybe.” Maka admits.

“Man-hater Maka has a crush.” Liz draws out the last word teasingly and Maka feels her face heating up.

“You are not being professional,” Maka hisses and grabs her book from the drawer, sitting and promptly shoving her face in it to ignore her coworker. It’s true though, she does have a crush, though she will certainly not be acting on it. She doesn’t even know where it came from; he’s scruffy, slouchy, sarcastic, and definitely not her type, but from the first time he passed over his debit card, and his calloused fingers brushed hers, she was a goner.

“Maybe he is single,” Liz muses, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. “Maybe the flowers are for a grave or something.”

“That’s so morbid!”

“It would work out for you though.” Liz grins.

“Eat shit,” Maka mutters and returns to her reading.

—

“Dude, you should ask her out already,” his roommate, Black Star, calls from the couch as he lays the flowers on the table.

“I asked her what she was doing this weekend, and she didn’t seem to be that responsive.” Soul sighs and joins Black Star, picking up a video game controller.

“She must just be dense.” Black Star puts his own controller down to toss a handful of chips in his mouth.

“She’s not,” Soul says exasperatedly. “I know she’s really smart– she’s always reading.”

“Sounds pretty dense to me,” Black Star says through a mouthful of chips. “You should just be more straight forward like me.”

“I am not taking advice from you,” Soul grumbles. “Besides, I don’t want to harass her at her workplace.”

“You already do, going in every week like that; you’re practically a stalker.”

“But I’m buying something so it’s okay.”

“It’s a waste of money if you aren’t ever going to ask her out.”

“I would if she seemed interested,” Soul grumbles.

“Hah!” Black Star barks, “peasant. Is she working tomorrow?”

“She said she was, in the morning.”

“So go in then! You want to be a cool guy don’t you?”

Soul freezes, cool guy, his weak spot.

“I bet you can’t do it,” Black Star continues, “cuz you’re chicken shit. You’ll never measure up to a big guy like me.”

“I’m going to do it,” Soul says resolutely.

“Sure you are, big guy.” Black Star returns to his game. “I’m holding you to that.”

The next morning comes around and Soul is feeling decidedly less resolute as Black Star shoves him out the door. He’s been trying to planning exactly what he’s going to say, to be casual, but not too casual. He’s sure she’s just going to laugh in his face, but he can’t face the shame from Black Star any longer.

The bell on the door tinkles, announcing his arrival, and he freezes.

She’s sitting at the front desk with her feet propped up on the table, but she swings her feet down with a clunk when she sees him.

“Well this is a surprise.”

She certainly looks surprised, and with her eyebrows through the roof, he can’t tell if it’s in a good way or not.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers.

“Did you need something?” she asks, eyes wide and flickering over his face in confusion.

He has to spit it out, but his mouth now resembles something like the sahara desert. She’s still watching him intently, while he stares at her face like an idiot. His flight or fight response is kicking in; he can feel himself about to either make some awful comment to her, or turn tail and run out of the shop.

He turns on his heels and takes a step towards the door before whipping back around.

“Do you want to get coffee?”

He says it fast with the words all run together like ink on a wet page.

She blinks. Did she hear him?

“What?” She says, face still stuck in a mask of incredulity.

“Um, coffee?”

“What about your girlfriend?”

He turns around looking for whoever she must be talking about. “My girlfriend?”

“Who you buy all the flowers for.”

“Who have I been buying flowers for?” He’s beyond confused.

“Your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Just hold up.” He stops her before this spirals any further downward. “Why do you think I have a girlfriend?”

“You buy flowers every week, it makes sense,” she wails, burying her face in her hands. “Unless, they aren’t for a grave are they? Liz said that they might be and I would feel so awful.”

“No one died.”

“Oh thank god.” She sighs out a loud huff of air. “What were you buying flowers for then? If you really don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Mother’s day.”

“Mother’s day was four months ago.”

He scratches the back of his head nervously. “Well at first, it was Mother’s Day,” he clarifies.

She’s still looking at him baffled, like weeds are growing out of his ears; she’s obviously looking for the rest of the explanation, though he’s loath to give it to her.

“I may have been coming in to see you.” He admits. “I’m sorry, I know that’s a little creepy. I’m gonna just leave now.” He’s embarrassed himself enough for a life time.

“Wait,” she calls. “You’re telling me, that this whole time, I thought you were buying flowers for your girlfriend, you were actually coming to see me?”

“Maybe.”

Her solemn face breaks into wild laughter in the span of half a second.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he complains. He knew this was going to happen, goddamnit.

“I’m not laughing at you.” She’s definitely still laughing. “I’m laughing at myself.”

It’s almost hard to understand her as she tries to speak between gasps of mirth.

“This whole time, I just had such a stupid crush.”

“Had?”

“Have,” she amends, before burying her quickly pinking face in her arms.

“Oh my god.” His hand gravitates to his forehead. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“This isn’t my fault!” She cries. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“This is ridiculous.” Soul pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can we just start this conversation over again?”

“Yeah, just come back through the door.”

He walks back out and back in. The bell tinkles, though his arrival is already well known.

“So, what time do you get off of work?” He asks, approaching the desk.

“Noon,” she answers, face still flushed and goddamn adorable.

“And, you do drink coffee, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to get some, with me?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I’ll see you later then.”


	3. Cool Guys Like Scorchios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-canon fluff, Soul has to ask Maka to take care of his neopets while he's out of town, but she ends up getting sucked in herself.

The word ‘partnership’ is still a little foreign in Maka’s mouth, as is her own cooking, which is not particularly stellar. Everyone had told her that she should stay in the dorms until she was a little older, but given the choice between living in the same building as her father, and living as far away as possible, with a boy no less, she’d pick the latter. The choice seemed obvious at the time.

She decides very quickly that domesticity is not for her, and especially not with a boy who she barely knows. Soul is moody, to say the least, though if asked in confidence she’ll admit that cranky is a more fitting descriptor. She’s twelve years old, and trying to work out the kinks of cohabitating with another human who won’t put up with her bullshit, but who also is unable to tell her what to do. It’s a steep learning curve for the both of them, and three months into the school year she’s relieved that Soul is going to visit his parents for Christmas.

She leans in his doorway watching him pack; he’s haphazard and messy, and it’s amusing watching him try to sit on his suitcase as he tries to pack one too many pairs of colored skinny jeans.

“How’s the packing going?” she asks casually.

“Fine.” His voice yo-yo’s between a growl and a squeak, a constant source of hilarity for her, though it might also just be her inner vindictiveness over his offhand comments about her chest. She’s a late bloomer, damnit! She hopes anyway.

“Fine? I don’t get you, and your one word answers, Soul.”

“Did you want a whole speech on how the packing is going? It’s going fine.”  

“I mean in general though.”

“…”

She sighs, frustrated with his silence, and his standoffishness. “I don’t know how you expect us to be friends and resonate soul’s and all that if you won’t talk to me.”

“You don’t think we’re friends?” He pushes his dumb hair out of the way looks up at her. She squints back at him, still a little put off, and a little drawn in, by his wine dark eyes.

“You barely talk to me, and when you do, it’s to say something rude.”

“I thought you thought it was funny.”

“Ugh.” Maka rolls her eyes and stomps into the kitchen to make cocoa. “You’re so weird – we’ll figure it out when you get back. What time is your flight?”

“I think nine, so I’m going to get up early and try to be there at eight.”

“Well, I’m gonna watch some T.V –I guess you can join me when you’re done packing,” she yells from the kitchen before sprawling out on the couch.

“Am I not welcome in my own living room?”

“I just said you could come.”

She turns on the cooking channel with some hopes of learning how to make something that isn’t toast, or pasta, but gets a little lost when they start whipping out kitchen utensils she’s sure she’s never seen before. Whoever decided it was reasonable to let pre-teens live on their own anyway?

Soul comes slouching out of his room about twenty minutes later, laptop and oversized headphones in tow. He glares at her until she swings her legs off the couch, leaving a respectable distance, before sitting down, turning his laptop just out her view, and plugging in his headphones. She can hear faint music playing, some upbeat and repetitive tune. Either Soul has reached a new level of hipsterdom, or he’s listening to something catchy _ironically._

“What are you even doing over there?” She scowls at him and he turns his screen a little further away.

“None of your business.”

“You’re always on your laptop! I wanna know what you’re doing?” She tries to lean over but he abruptly slams the screen shut.

“Geez, you’re so nosy.”

“I wouldn’t have to be so nosy if you weren’t so secretive.”

“I actually, uh, have a favor to ask you.” Soul slowly opens his laptop again – Maka cranes her neck over to see the screen but he still keeps it turned away.

“Well? Spit it out then.”

“Can you take care of my neopets for me, when I’m gone?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, neopets, the game?”

“Oh I know the game,” Maka scoffs, “I was quite the expert when I was, you know, eight. Don’t you think you’re a little old for that?”

“Wes still plays!” Soul counters defensively, and it dawns on her that Soul might not actually know exactly how uncool this is. She doesn’t quite have the heart to tell him it’s likely that Wes is humoring him, and being a good brother, and not actually interested in maintaining and painting online animals, so she agrees and asks exactly what this care will entail.

“Well then.” Soul’s voice takes on a new tone of enthusiasm that Maka has yet to experience. “You have to collect all the dailies – I have them all in this bookmark folder though so don’t worry about finding them.”

Maka catches a glimpse of his userpage and winces inwardly at the slurry of black and red glitter graphics and personality quiz results; she never needed to know what paint brush, petpet, and potion Soul is. But if this is what she has to put up with to make a death scythe, she will be strong.

“Oh wow, that one is just like a shark,” she comments. It must be some rare color, certainly not one that she ever achieved in her younger days, before she started doing grownup things, because she’s a grownup, damnit.

“It’s a Maraquan Grarrl,” he corrects her sullenly.

“Well it looks like a shark.”

“I like sharks.”

“Your _brethren_ ,” she mutters under her breath.

“What other pets do you have?” she asks purely out of curiosity and not because she is interested at all.

“Oh, well, I have a Darigan Scorchio.”

“Darigan, very fancy.”

“They’re evil, very cool.”

“So cool,” she reassures him, because he looks stricken and she has learned in the past couple months that ‘cool’ is the highest compliment in Soul’s vocabulary, and that he is oddly desperate for her approval. “Wait, you have a Draik!? Aren’t those really expensive?”

“A Pirate Draik.” Soul beams with a sense of pride that can only be described as adorable.

“Pirates are very cool,” she admits, without admitting that she may have some original fiction about pirates squirreled away in her room. That’s a monster to address another day, along with the poetry – he certainly doesn’t need to know about that yet. “Anyway, dailies, bookmarked, anything else?”

“Well, it’s December, so you have to remember to collect the advent calendar prize, and then you should feed them also if they’re hungry. I can show you how if you want.”

“I think I can figure it out,” Maka stops him before he can go into a full tutorial. “I think we both should go to bed.”

“Yeah probably.”

Maka stands up first, because her preteen weapon partner asking her to help with his online game is about the geekiest and most awkward situation she can think of, and he had the nerve to call her a nerd!

“Goodnight, Soul,” she says from her doorway.

“‘Night,” he returns, “and Maka?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

—

Soul has been gone for approximately four hours when the first text message arrives.

[hey did you get the advent calendar prize?]

Of course she hasn’t, because she’s been studying and cleaning the apartment, doing real life things. She responds to his text to tell him to lay off when the next one comes.

[i just want to know what the prize is]

[fine, fine, i’m doing it now calm down] Maka shoots of her response and goes to open up Soul’s page for the first time. It’s bright and colorful and calming, and the animation is kind of fun – she can at least see the appeal of it, for children of course. But she follows along his extensive list of daily activities and texts him back the results. Of course she forgets to collect his interest so he has to remind her of her shortcomings via rapid paced text messages.

Well, she had completed her duties for the day, but the apartment was eerily quiet without Soul clattering around with too large feet clumsily bumping into things like a puppy that hasn’t gotten used to its body yet. There are about twenty books she hasn’t gotten around to looking at yet but she somehow ends up reading through some plot comic on neopets. Who even knew there were plots to play on neopets? What an extensive website, it’s ridiculous.

Somehow six hours later she hasn’t eaten dinner yet and has been fending off the need to pee for who knows how long. She discovers the neopets newspaper, the neopian times, and archives. There are pages and pages of archives full of things to read and suddenly she’s invested in stories about neopets. Is this fanfiction? Has she sunk so low? She immediately clears the browser history on Soul’s laptop and slams the top shut.

She wakes up the next morning to a series of texts from Soul, firstly forgetting the time difference and berating her for not being up yet, and second of all reminding her to feed his pets, and not poison jelly or any gross foods because his babies can’t get sick. The advent calendar awards her some dumb looking clothing so she takes the liberty of playing dress up with his Scorchio because the stupid Grarll, SharkyShark13, apparently can’t wear clothes. Damn do those look stupid. a little digging turns up some clothes that don’t look too ridiculous, but they cost real life money. Jesus, who would spend actual money on Neopets? Not Soul, at least he wasn’t that far gone. Then again, she hadn’t gotten him a Christmas present yet. Soul better appreciate how cool his pets are going to look when he gets home cuz xXCoolGuyXx is getting a makeover.

—

A week of downward spiraling into flash game hell and Soul returns. Very few pleasantries are exchanged about the trip (Soul is unbelievably close lipped about his family) before he dives onto his account to examine his loot.

“I uh, got you a present,” Maka mumbles, shuffling her feet.

“You put clothes on CoolGuy?”

“I thought they looked cool, do they not look cool?”

“They look cool,” he admits and continues scrolling through his inventory, silent for a few minutes. “Maka, did you uh, play some games?”

“No, of course not,” she denies quickly. She had deleted the browser history very meticulously so all of the regular pages were here, just not her shameful reading material and repeated games of Meerca Chase.

“There’s a lot more points in my account from before.” Caught.  

“That’s just from your dailies and everything,” she tries to cover for herself, but it’s hopeless.

“You texted me all of the prizes, it doesn’t add up, you were totally playing games.”

“Nope.”

“You can deny it all you want, but I know, you can’t make fun of me anymore.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you before.”

“You were judging me, I could tell.”

“Well, you’re kind of old to be playing neopets.”

“Says the girl who spent the last week playing enough games to make me an extra hundred thousand neopoints.” Shit, had it really been that much? “You know, I could set you up with your own account.”

“Oh, I don’t need that, I was just bored.” _More like lonely._

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and settles down to play games while Maka watches on longingly, but she is strong; she won’t get sucked into his childish pastime.

She stalks into her room and makes her own account, naming her pets after the characters in her work in progress pirate romance novel. If her some other fifteen year old can get a book published then she certainly can too. Account nicely set up, she retreats back to her comically violent, but child friendly games. Her fast reflex fingers twitch for action.

But moments later, her laptop speakers betray her. Last thing she’d used her own computer for was blasting techno while cleaning the kitchen so now the upbeat tune of dodging scoops of icecream comes out without a care towards her dignity. Soul whips his way into her room with record speed before she can say Chia.

“Aha!” he shouts, voice cracking comically, though Maka is too stricken to laugh. “You were playing!”

“You did it first.”

“Just admit that it’s fun and I’ll buy you a paint brush.”

Cute winged Kacheeks dance in front of her eyes; she caves. “I’m just playing cuz it’s nostalgic, don’t look at me like that.” A rare shit eating grin sprawls across her partner’s face. He knows – she’s totally hopelessly trapped in the web of colorful graphics and smarmy virtual pets. There’s no turning back, but this secret must be taken to the grave.


	4. That Goddamn Skirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a round of spring cleaning, Soul and Maka dig up her old school skirt and have a little fun. NSFW desk sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Eis' birthday <3

Soul has very low standards when it comes to the state of the apartment. Of course, he also has a sensitive nose, so leaving dirty dishes around is a no-go, but having it a little messy would be no problem for him. Any sort of clutter doesn’t sit well with Maka though, so biannual deep cleaning is routine for them. This spring is a whole new level though; besides cleaning, they’re also packing up to move into an actual bonafide house, complete with extra bedroom for a potential, vaguely discussed, future child. 

Life is good. Cleaning is not, especially when Maka keeps dredging up embarrassing grade school items from his closet. There are the very, very deeply buried boyband CDs he had brought from home at age twelve. He’d very promptly become too embarrassed to ever listen to them, but also too nostalgic to throw them away. 

“Soul, what is this?” The tone of Maka’s voice is confrontational, curious, maybe even flirtatious (thought he can’t quite tell); he doesn’t have any idea what to expect. If she’d found any ancient porno magazines she would surely just be hit on the head with them.

“What? Oh.” What meets his eyes is a relic of his teenage fantasies: Maka’s red, plaid, cliche as hell skirt that was somehow the sexiest outfit his sixteen year old self could think to jerk off to. The way her stupid long legs had disappeared under it was unreasonable, so close to the curve of her ass in plain white underwear. Of course, now she had discovered pencil skirts, which offered less mobility but had some other benefits. “...That.”

“I can’t believe you kept this.”

“It’s… sentimental.” He settles on the word after running through a myriad of other, less appropriate, ones in his head. 

“You don’t have my old jacket too though? That was really iconic.”

“No, just the skirt.” He  _ sweats _ . “I always liked it,” he adds, instantly regretting it.

“Really? You never said anything.” She’s standing now, holding it up at her waist and he can see again how short it is, though she’s only grown one meager inch since then while he got another four.  _ And that was after the first little growth spurt that finally set them apart,  _ he thinks smugly. 

“Of course not,” he chuffs. “I was too busy trying to keep my cool.” 

“You weren’t very successful.” Maka’s lips curl up at the edges in the sweetest little smirk he’s seen to date, except maybe compared to every other time she smiles. He can’t exactly pick a favorite.

“Sure I was!” Soul denies. “You never, ever figured out I had a crush on you until I spelled it out. You practically demanded a written confession out of me, signed and dated.”

“You had a crush on me?” He could almost believe she’s genuinely incredulous, if it weren’t for the little gleam in her eye. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t you dare quote Parks and Rec at me -- I’m the one who showed you that!”

“Come on, just say it.”

He sighs, begrudging but still willing to go along with her whims. “Maka, we’re married.”

“And don’t you forget it, Mr. Albarn-Evans.” She gives him a little peck between ever so furrowed eyebrows. “I think it’s cute you kept it, because of your little crush.”

“It wasn’t a  _ little crush _ ,” he contradicts her very uncooly. His face is hot, and he’s starting to get a little bothered just thinking about crazy he’s always been about her, even then. Then again, he figures she could use a little dose of embarrassment herself. “Besides, there were some good times with that skirt, what with you swinging me around and giving me all kinds of panty shots.” 

“Soul! Don’t say that!”

“It’s true,” he mutters, closing the gap between them, fueled by the pinking of her face. “You straddled me, Maka, in a  _ skirt. My shaft. _ ” He expects a rebuttal from her, rather than the apology he receives.

“You should have warned me if that was weird for you,” she mumbles. Her cheeks are warm against his when he rests his chin on her shoulder and buries his face in her hair.

“Are you kidding? It was awesome.”

She fidgets a little when he wraps an arm around her head to pull her hair away from her face and give her a little kiss on the cheek, then her neck. 

“You know, I wanted you, too; it makes me wish, ah,” she gasps when his teeth graze her skin. “Makes me wish I hadn’t been so stupid, so we could have had sex in a closet at one of those dances when it would have just meant detention, instead of me getting fired.”

He snorts, and the huff of air tickles her, drawing out a little giggle. “Yeah right, like they could fire you Miss Soul Perception. Or me, for that matter, their precious last Death Scythe.”

“Hey, you’re more than just that.” She tugs him away from her neck to cup his jaw. He goes a little cross eyed trying to look at her when she’s pressing their foreheads together. Eventually he gives up and lets his lids fall shut.

“I know, but you did make me a pretty cool weapon.”

“And you made yourself a pretty cool partner,” she counters.

“You might’ve helped with that a bit,” he breathes into her lips a fraction of a section before they meet, and she’s tilting him closer to her so he’s really got to move his hand for a little support at some point. The floor next to her would probably be a good choice, but he’s a sucker for physical contact so he slides his fingers into her lap instead, where they meet that familiar pleated fabric. “You know..” He’s trying to think about how to say this delicately, without sounding a little off the rails, but delicacy always fails him. “You could always... try it on again.”  

“I haven’t worn that in ten years, I really doubt it would fit,” Maka protests, her hand finding his, their fingers interlocking instinctively.

“Last time I checked, you were still little.”

“Well, maybe, but it’s not like I’m going to look the same as I did when I was sixteen.”

“Well, obviously, I wouldn’t want it to. Bet it still looks good though, probably better.”

“So, theoretically.” Maka speaks slowly, her voice taking on that slightly husky quality that tends to get him hard instantly. “What would we be doing if I was wearing this skirt?”

“Um, I don’t know.”  _ He does but he won’t say it.  _

“You’ve clearly been thinking about this for  _ years _ . Come on, tell me while we’re still in this old place. What were you thinking about? You were thinking about me?” 

“I was thinking about giving you head under it.” He says it quickly; it’s easier to get out with his eyes closed and her thumb brushing back of his neck. Her hips twist and wiggle a little against him at the admission. “Probably on a desk. You always made me sit at those stupid library tables with you--”

_ “You do have a desk, _ ” she breathes, half hesitancy, half wildcat. An old roll-top one at that.

“Is that a yes, then?” His fingers curl and uncurl in the fabric spasmodically. He’d been so shy about holding anything but her hands, or touching anything below her shoulders at the time, so he’s only handled  _ the skirt _ while they were doing laundry. The last time had been to fold it a little too lovingly and stash it in a box in his closet. Now though? He’s itching to feel it swish around her hips.

“I don’t still have that sweater vest, unless you kept that too.”

“The only thing I wanted to do with that thing was take it off.”    

She nearly chokes laughing, and he knows he’s done good. “Well let me get changed then.”

There’s a brief instant when he considers making a snarky remark about letting him watch, but the fact that this is about to happen at all keeps his mouth shut. He shuffles out the door, and closes it carefully before pumping his fist in the air triumphantly. 

_ “Fuck yeah,”  _ he hisses.

“I can hear you, you know!” 

“Sorry!” He can only hope she doesn’t perceive the tiny crack in his voice, though if she tried she could probably perceive the shame and excitement hybrid swelling up in him. 

Minutes later, “Soul, this is stupid.”

“Let me see.” His hand is on the doorknob when she flings it open before he gets the chance.  _ Fuck. _

“I told you it wouldn’t look the same -- I don’t think I have the whole school girl thing going anymore.” She’s got the white button down thing going for sure, and even though her arms are crossed tightly across her chest, he’s ninety percent sure she’s already taken her bra off. Probably to save him the hassle of fiddling with it; he never really figuring it out after several years. 

He hums and steps forward to stand in front of her while she blocks the doorway. “That’s not the point. You still look like my three star meister turned librarian, albeit a very unprofessional one.”

“So it’s okay?” Maka squints, skepticism clear in her face. “I feel ridiculous.”

Soul has to grip her shoulders firmly to push her back a little so he can get a second look. “Almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. His hands ghost toward her collar simultaneously and start unbuttoning her shirt like they have all the time in the world. His earlier suspicions about the bra situation are quickly confirmed. Her breath hitches in tiny gasps as his fingers brush her stomach with each sequential button, and soon he’s on his knees in front of her to carefully untuck the whole thing and reach the bottom. Palm flat on her stomach, her skin is a boon to him, all warmth and goosebumps and infinitesimal twitches when she breathes. “That’s better,” he sighs against her and finally buries his face into that skirt, the bane of his teen years. 

The sigh that escapes her when he nudges her legs apart is of course to die for. Being between those legs, he thinks he might already smell her arousal. That's certainly valuable information. 

“Soul,” she whimpers, “I can't do this standing up on my own.”

“I know, I'm just…”  _ Checking if she's forgone underwear along with her bra.  _ Exploring the backs of her thighs up to the apex, and the curve of her ass, is generally a religious experience. Throw in a little red plaid sin and he's died and gone to heaven. Slowly, slowly, he creeps up to find that yes, she is wearing panties. That'll have to change. 

“I'm just gonna take these off.” He glances up at her for approval. She nods with another one of those little gasps and he's giving her rear a parting squeeze before dragging delicate cotton down equally delicate skin until he's lifting each ankle to help her out. 

With her standing before him with her shirt wide open and nothing under her skirt, he’s free to reach back up, up, and find his home cupping two very round and perfectly sized half globes. It was one of those things that made him think they were definitely made for each other, besides that whole resonances soul compatibility thing.

“So, uh, bed or…?” Somewhere along the line of their partnership, Maka’s sex voice and her meister voice merged, and it had done all kinds of confusing things to Soul’s dick and his slightly submissive need to serve and please her. Being on his knees in front of her doesn’t help much on that front either. 

“Or?” he repeats while trying to get a good moan out of her by coaxing her legs apart and teasing his way between them. She’s soaked, as ready as he is.

“You. Hng, you uh. You said something about the desk,” she says hurriedly.

Soul isn’t sure he’s ever gotten on his feet so quickly. Maka pulls him backwards with her, small hands finding a new equal opportunity to get down the back of _ his _ pants (and boxers) and tug. She stumbles over his desk chair and nearly topples both of them to the floor but is able to somehow hip check it out of the way before they’re both on the ground. What a woman. 

In all his daydreams, he’d always hoisted her up onto the desk, table, whatever else that would put her at a good level for him to fall to his knees and make her see stars. She apparently has other plans though. Maka maneuvers this little backwards jump, bracing her arms on his desk and hopping backwards and it’s possibly the most endearing thing he’s seen today. He can’t reliably compare to every other adorable thing she’s done in the past week, let alone a decade and a half of partnership.     

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

“As comfortable as I can be on a hard surface.” She cups his face, pulls him in for a kiss that she smirks into. He can just feel her smiling against his lips and it’s infectious. “But really, I’m good.” 

That’s just what he needs to hear. He gives her another peck and then descends,  _ slowly. _ There’s a lot of Maka between her mouth and her pussy, namely a slender neck, low dipping collar bones, the small valley between her breasts, and her navel, all of which demand to be kissed on the way down. A flurry of protests, encouragements, and hushed curses (she still doesn’t like to swear out loud) urge his pace, but it’s more satisfying to go painstakingly slow, especially with the amount of ‘ _ please’  _ coming out of her mouth. 

Finally, with a fair amount of something akin to begging on her part, he hovers over her clit, poised. She holds her skirt up for him, and the stars are aligned. 

_ “Soul, please.” _ He barely hears her tiny voice above the blood rushing in his head, but it’s a request he’d like to accommodate. Knees on the ground, arms wrapped securely around her thighs, he presses his tongue flat against her. The hand she’d been using to hold herself upright slips out from under her to get a solid grip on his hair, and he hears her bump into the backboard of the desk. He’s a little concerned she’s hurt herself, maybe this is a little ambitious and they should’ve gone for the bed, but there are no complaints on her end so he keeps at it.    

Her legs flop haphazardly over his shoulders when he flicks his way upwards to her clit, and they cinch him in when he wraps his mouth around the little nub. The way her calves clench and flex around him, he's starting to regret leaving his shirt on. 

It's a tried and tested game, and he knows just what kinds of reactions he can get out of her. And yet, it's still fun as hell, not to mention arousing. It’s a good thing he’s got sweats on or he’d be in a very uncomfortable position. As it is though, he’s free to palm himself wantonly through his pants while acquainting himself with every inch of her folds. 

He wonders, though, with her backed up against the backboard, head bumping into the wall, would she be stable enough to stay put if he were to untangle his other arm from her thigh and gets his fingers involved? He figures it’s worth a shot, and Maka does just fine without the extra support. The problem is when he pushes his index finger into her entrance, crooking upwards, and she promptly drops her skirt over his head with a moan. 

_ Where the hell did that other hand go?  _ Being under her skirt has definitely been part of the dream from the beginning, but he’s infinitely curious what she’s doing up there, sobbing his name in the best way possible. If he has to pick which of two hands to move that damn skirt with, the one touching her, or the one touching himself, touching himself would have to wait. Ever the multitasker, he takes care to keep stroking her walls and teasing her with his tongue when he lifts the skirt away from his face; his voyeuristic interest is certainly no excuse for slacking. 

“Oh.” Maka freezes, hand firmly on one of her tits, mid grope. He’s not in the business of taking his mouth off of her, so he just groans against her in response and prays she takes the hint that she should definitely keep fondling herself,  _ please.  _ She gets the idea. 

“Soul, please.” Combination meister voice and pleading gets him undone. He pumps his finger into her, all the while noisily sucking on her hood, desperate to get her off. Her chest heaves as she writhes on his desk, grinding herself on his hand while she pants encouragements interspersed with a chorus of ‘ _ Soul _ !’ 

He’s almost a little worried she’s going to buck herself straight off the desk if she doesn’t come soon, but suddenly her grip in his hair tightens, almost unbearably so, and she’s holding her breath with her mouth wide open. One more solid lick for good luck and she’s spasming around his fingers and gulping for air. The hand in his hair continues to twist a little painfully, a lot arousingly ( _ hello masochism, my old friend)  _ until it goes slack and she’s petting instead of yanking. 

Then, devious as ever, she’s sliding her palms inside the back of the collar of his shirt and grabbing his shoulders. “C’mere.” A quick squeeze. 

By her command, he rises, lets her wrap her legs around his hips to hold him close to her. Her thumbs seek his lips, brushing over them, testing the slickness, before unabashedly diving in with her mouth, tongue and all. She’s always been one to kiss him appreciatively after oral, and he’s always been one to get turned on by it, as if he isn’t hard enough already. She swipes her tongue languidly along his, all the while fiddling with the hem of his shirt, cold hands sending little shivers up his abdominals.

“Um.” She breaks away momentarily with a brief, reassuring peck. “Can you… not be wearing this?” 

He practically rips it over his head and flings it across the room, perhaps a little  _ too  _ dramatically. New skin available, she busies herself palming down along his scar from his shoulder to hip bones. She dips calloused fingertips under his waistband and remarks casually, as if he isn’t pressed up against her.

“You’re hard.” 

“Uhuh,” he answers dumbly with a loud gulp.

“I want this.” She continues venturing downwards until she’s grasping his length. 

He’s caught in the middle of trying to slide her shirt down off her shoulders, but there’s no way he’s moving with his dick in her hand. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Soft, eager lips find his again and his pants are being worked down his hips with her free hand while she glides her thumb over the head of his cock. 

“I should get a condom then shouldn’t I? Since you had the IUD taken out?” He murmurs. 

“You know, I was thinking,” Maka muses, suddenly serious and out of his pants in a heartbeat. “We were talking, you know, with me stopping the birth control, and the house.”

“About kids? And you’re saying--?” He thinks he knows what she saying, and his heart leaps into his throat at the prospect.  

“We’re moving in a couple weeks, it might not be a bad time to start trying, maybe. If you were serious that is.” She sounds so hesitant he could cry.

“God, of course I was serious, Maka. So serious.” 

“I mean, I literally have no idea if I even could right this second,” she babbles while he leans his forehead onto her shoulder. “But I figure it’s a good time to try--Hey! That tickles.” Blowing a raspberry on her neck has always been a surefire way to drag her out of overthinking circles. 

“Okay, so, no condom. You want to get on the bed?”

“Uh.” She’s pink, then red, the fuscia. Her skin is so fair, it’s always so telling of her emotions, and Soul thinks this might be a new shade of blush previously unseen. 

“You want to do it on the desk?!” And here he’d been thinking that was solely his thing. 

“Don’t say that like I’m crazy!” Her cheeks puff up like the world’s most adorable, tiny blonde dragon getting ready to roar. 

“I’m not, I swear.” He sucks in a breath of air, then sucks on the side of her neck for good measure, only for a brief second before releasing her with a scrape of his teeth. “Just trying to make sure I’m not imagining things.”

“So? Is that okay?”

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck. Of course. Please.” What starts as a low growl in his throat turns into a whine when she starts wiggling his pants down his hips again until they’re pooled around his feet along with his boxers. “Ready?”

“Wait.” Maka shimmies forward a little, forcing him to inch backwards with his feet still tangled in his clothes. “It’s getting a little uncomfortable up here. Can I?” She slides forward off the desk, chest pressed deliciously against his for the briefest of moments until she starts turning around awkwardly in the small gap. His hands trail across soft skin as she turns until her back is to him and they’re on delicate hip bones again. 

“You mean--” His eyes bulge out of his face a little, so he’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the ridiculous look on his face. He locks his arms around her. Holding her close, He wills her to melt into him. 

“Is it weird? I know we don’t usually do it like this,” she mumbles as he trails wandering fingers up to briefly brush over her nipples and ghost over her throat.

“Not at all, especially if you were getting sore up there.”  _ What kind of hallucination has he walked into?  _ The way she grinds her ass on his dick -- and then she  _ bends _ at the waist to fold over the spot she’d just been sitting,  _ and coming with his name on her lips. _ He thumbs the indentations at the base of her back lightly before leaning in. “Just surprised you thought of this.” 

“I’ve been thinking about it for years! What do you think  _ I  _ was thinking about at those awful library tables. You made it so hard to focus, aaAH!” Soul catches her clit between his finger so she cuts herself off with a moan. 

“Are you saying you had a crush on me?” He grins. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“You already knew that, idiot, now will you just--”  Maka pauses to sneak an arm out to try to grapple with him and pull him into her but the angle isn’t easy for her.

The tip of his erection is already flush against her; she’s so warm and wet she melts him, and he’s been ready to sink into her for ages. So, appreciative as he is of the feel of her hips and precious back dimples, he also knows from experience that trying to thrust in without a guiding hand generally ends in an awkward mis-aim. Things You Don’t Learn From Porn 101.  

He enters her painfully slowly, careful of her comfort in an unfamiliar position; the combination of having sex standing up, from behind, bent over, is a new one for them, though individually they’ve all been checked off. Her legs tremble.

“You okay?” He wraps an arm around her waist to hold her up, and leans over her to brace himself with a white knuckled grip on the top of the desk, another reason their height difference is very important to him. 

_ “Mhm,”  _ she whispers, “it’s deep, but good, you can go ahead.” 

He kisses her ear and thrusts shallowly.  _ Shit.  _ He’s gotten used to using condoms again in the past couple months since Maka went off birth control, but now’s he’s reminded how different it is when he can really feel just how wet she is, and how even the slightest of pulses sends electricity through his veins. He kisses his way from her jaw, down her neck until his tongue drags across her shoulder blades where he says, “Still good?”

“Yes! Soul,  _ God,  _ just fu-- just do me already.” He can’t believe what almost just came out of her mouth. Well then, if she  _ really _ wants him to unceremoniously pound her on his desk, he can oblige that. A couple more bucks and she’s scrabbling for purchase on the flat surface so he holds her steady, using his arm as a buffer so her hips don’t whack into hard wood, or Shinigami forbid, drawer knobs. It’s wholly unpractical and devastatingly hot, especially the way she calls for him to go faster and then--

“Touch me.” 

Oh, he can _ definitely  _ do that. Much as he’s enjoying the maximum skin contact that comes with the territory of leaning over her, he’d also  _ really,  _ really like to make her come again, preferably while he’s still inside her. He straightens up, keeping a firm grip on her hips while sneaking his other hand under her skirt and between her legs to rub her clit. The effect is instantaneous; even though her knees are buckling under her, she still twists and gyrates her hips to double up on his own movements. 

Even with her face smushed against her folded arms, he can still hear her breathy pants, a chorus of wordless encouragements mixed with ‘more’ and something slurred that sounds like she’s close. 

“Come for me, Maka,” he  _ implores _ , slamming into her a little recklessly, trying to push her over the edge before he falls himself. She’s slick, red hot, and he can’t think straight with the way she urges him between thrusts. She unburies her face to peek out at him between blonde bangs and lashes, her eyes hooded and cheeks flushed. An affectionate smile plays on her lips for a flash before her mouth drops open and her eyes slam shut.

She’s too endearing, her skin too soft; he’s in sensory overload. “Maka, I’m--” 

He is, but so is she, clamping around him with little spasms, her walls gripping him so tightly he can’t move so much as try to keep them both upright while she waits to get her breath back. 

“Man, if you get pregnant, that’s going to be one hell of a conception story.”

“Gross!” Maka tries to twist around in his arms to smack him squarely in the chest. “You will say no such thing.” 

“I’m joking! You know I would never.” He chuckles, haphazardly and half-heartedly grabbing at one of her flailing hands, but ultimately letting her still and rest it at his waist on her own. 

The dagger glare on her face softens and she relaxes into him. “Idiot.”

“Hm.” He props his chin on top of her head with a satisfied sigh.      

“I think  _ now _ would be the time for that bed,” Maka leans her head onto his shoulder, her hair tickling his chest.  _ Definitely. _

“Finally,” he snorts. “I’ve been trying to get you over there forever.”

“Uh, desk was your idea, not mine.” 

“Not  _ banging _ on it, I didn’t know you had it in you.” He smirks into her hair while she shoves him. 

“Like you never thought of it,” she mutters skeptically. Soul laughs and tries to shuffle them backwards and into the bed while still keeping her in his arms, but he hadn’t accounted for the tangle of clothing around his feet tripping them up. They stumble, pivot, and collapse in the most awkwardly synchronized motion possible, landing half on the bed, half on the floor with equal surprised squeaks and bursts of laughter. 

It’s a comical scramble get up there, especially with Maka trying to shuck her skirt off at the same time. With not a small amount of rolling and yanking, they get under the blankets with the sad realization that it’s still mid afternoon and there’s still hours of packing left to do, but they’re both still in too much of an endorphin haze to care. 

Besides, a little nap with a naked meister certainly couldn’t hurt. 

  
  



	5. Lips Shut Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maka doesn't meet her next her next door neighbor until he gets sexiled by his roommate, and that's before things get weird.

Maka Albarn was sure of two things about her next door neighbors: they both played a lot of video games, and neither one of them had grown out of their middle school scene phase -- if their hair colors were any indicator. Past that, she wasn’t sure they had much in common, though she didn’t really know much about either one of them. 

They had moved in three months ago, and Maka only knew one of them by name. He told her his name was Black Star when she’d went over to introduce herself. It seemed like a prank, but she’d heard enough infuriated growls of that name from his mysterious roommate to know it was a full on lifestyle choice. Black Star thundered up the stairs of the complex when he came home, and his alarm was set to play “Eye of the Tiger” at four in the morning. The song invaded Maka’s dreams once she learned to sleep through it. 

The other boy she knew little about, save what he sounded like when he lost at Wii sports, and that he liked classical music but sang Fall Out Boy in the shower. They’d never really been introduced -- he only peeked at her with either a frown or a bad case of resting bitch face that first day. Maka didn’t even know his name -- it was hard to pick anything out of the myriad of deprecating things Black Star tended to shout. Was his name ‘Assface?’ Was it a simple ‘Loser?’ His tendency to slink around like a cat made it hard to keep track of his schedule, too, unless he happened to catch a glimpse of shock white hair out her window. 

Maka wondered if and when they would meet; maybe they’d even have a conversation. 

It turned out to be a rainy Saturday night when they met. Maka was just putting on water for tea so she could settle in for the night and catch up on Cutthroat Kitchen after a long week in the library, when she spied her neighbor leaning under the awning looking  _ miserable.  _ His usually artfully spiked hair was drenched on his face, adding to the wet dog effect. She leaned against her kitchen counter for a minute, watching his behavior. He’d sigh, shuffle a little closer to the building, glare at the rain pelting him from the side, rinse and repeat. Was he practicing for his emo music video debut? Or was he locked out? A combination curiosity and pity won out over her instinct to not invite strange men inside, and Maka clicked the dead bolt open. 

“You okay out here?” she asked. 

Her neighbor startled, nearly falling over the railing with his gangly body. “Yep. Fine.”

There was no saving his lost dignity and composure, but he sure was gonna try by growling and flipping his hair out of his eyes. 

“You forget your key?” Maka pried.

“No.”  _ What a wordsmith. _

“But you’re locked out…?”

“Kinda.”

Maka stared him down, willing to use more than two words at a time. 

He sighed again, hopefully in preparation for speaking a full sentence. “Black Star has company.”

“Company?” He must really be antisocial if he would rather stand out in the rain than stick around when his roommate has company over. 

“Like, a date.” The man fidgeted. 

“Why don’t you just hide out in your room?” Maka resisted tacking on ‘like a normal person’ at the end.

“It’s a one bedroom -- my room is the living room.” 

“Oh… that’s…”

“It was cheaper than the dorm, okay? Two years of sharing a bedroom -- listening to that monkey snore. Ugh.” There were some obvious grievances in the past. But that meant meant they must be college students -- it was so hard to place this guy’s age with the white hair. 

“So you go to the university then?” She fished for confirmation.

“Yeah. D’you?”

“No, I work in the library. I just graduated in the spring.” With honors. It was a point of family pride.

“From high school?”

“No!” It was Maka’s turn to lose her composure. “From college! I don’t look--”

“You kinda do.” His smirk was annoying and smug and stupidly attractive. What business did he have with a dimple like that?

“Whatever, do you want to come in, or not?” Maka planted her fists on her hips in the best power stance she could manage at her petite height. 

“Huh?” 

“It’s wet outside. Are you really planning on staying out here the whole night?” 

“Oh, I guess I’ll come in then,” her neighbor grumbled before self consciously wiping soaked converse on the welcome mat. “I’ll just leave these in the hall maybe.” 

“I’m Maka, by the way,” she belatedly introduced herself after realizing they hadn’t exchanged names yet. 

“Soul.” Came his gravelly response. 

It wasn’t every night she had a strange man in her apartment (read: never) so she was at a bit of a loss at what to do on this odd occasion.

“I was just making tea if you want some,” Maka offered. Did boys drink tea?

“Oh, alright.”

She didn’t know if it should be a consolation or a blow to her pride that they were apparently equally awkward. Cups of tea in hand, they stood in the tiny living room making Not Eye Contact. 

Maka cleared her throat.

Soul cleared his throat. 

“So, do you want to sit down?” she asked carefully. 

“I don’t want to get your couch all muddy.”

Oh. The concept that he might try to be considerate hadn't even crossed her mind, and here she was offering tea when all he probably wanted was a hot shower and some clean clothes -- not that she had much to offer in that department. 

“I guess your clothes are pretty wet,” she mused.

“Mhm.” He had the gall to roll his eyes at her. So what if it was the most obvious observation of the century? 

Suddenly, the light bulb in her brain turned on, the fog caused by sarcastic baritone lifted -- she had in unit laundry. “I have a dryer if you want to throw your clothes in there.” 

Soul raised a single eyebrow up past the shaggy border of his too long hair. “And what do you suggest I wear in the meantime? A toga?” 

Maka could scream, though whether it was because he was annoying as hell, or because she somehow found it witty and amusing, she couldn’t tell. He did have a bit of a point. 

“I guess I have some boxer shorts, but they might be too small for you.”

The second eyebrow joined the first beneath the mop. “Skinny boyfriend?”

“No! They’re mine.” Maka could feel her face heating up. “I like to use them as pajamas.” 

“Let’s see them, then.” 

“Wait here!” The sudden realization that her room was a disaster zone as a product of monthly deep cleaning hit her and she definitely didn’t need to give Soul any more weird impressions. Of course he followed her doggedly anyway.

“Huh. Pegged you for a neat freak.” His amusement was clear in his voice. 

“I. Am in. The middle. Of cleaning.” She made it across the room in about three strides, slammed the top dresser drawer open, ripped out some shorts, and promptly threw them at his sharky face. 

He held them skeptically at his hips. “Wouldn’t’ve thought your hips were this wide.”

“What?!” A book followed the shorts in quick pursuit toward his idiot head.

“Gah!” He squawked. “Sorry! It was a compliment!” Oh boy was he backing himself straight into hell.

“What?!” Maka repeated with half the volume and twice the fury. 

“Not like that! I just mean… You look… You have a very nice… Eyes. Woah. Eyes.”

Some time mid apology, he’d ended up  _ very _ close to her face and was now blinking at her rapidly. Huh. His eyebrows were white too -- now that was dedication. That damn dimple was taunting her too, and the way he was peering into her face like he’d lost something valuable in her irises. 

Mak coughed. “There’s clean towels on the shelf under the sink.” 

He stepped back, looking perplexed.

“If you want to dry your hair or shower or something.” 

“Oh. That would be really nice actually.”

“And, uh.” The fact that he was about to be running around her apartment practically naked was seeping into her brain and boiling into girlish middle school crush phase stew. She had to think of something, and fast. Maka dashed for the bathroom to grab the third, but not final item, she would throw at his face over the course of the evening. “Here.”

“I’m supposed to wear  _ this?” _

“Well, yeah. You’ll get cold.”

“Okay…”

Okay. That gave her as long as he took to shower to calm her nerves with some quick breathing exercises while trying desperately not to think about the fact that there was now a naked man in her apartment. 

There was a naked man in her apartment. How had her life come to this moment? Where had she gone wrong and turned to a life of sin?

Rampant cleaning was clearly the answer to all her problems, so she bumped up some Nicki Minaj and got to work.

She was well into a good groove, back to her regular empowered self with the power of some sick beats. 

“Never fucked Wayne, never fucked Drake,” she hummed to herself, folding her laundry with a vengeance. 

“I should hope not,” came a sullen voice behind her, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

“Holy cow!” Maka yelped, twisting around in a feat of flexibility that made Soul’s eyebrows do that disappearing act again. Her eyes flicked down, then back up. “Pink suits you.” 

“Shut up.” Soul’s face approached the color of the fluffy bathrobe with impressive speed. “You can’t sing.” 

“It’s not singing. It’s rapping.”

He blinked once, twice, and bursts out laughing. It was a deep throated sound, like he hadn’t heard anything funny in a month and had weeks worth of pent up mirth to unleash until tears crinkled at the edge of sanguine eyes.  

“It’s not that funny.” Maka snapped.

“It really is.”

The only solution was to growl and demand he join her in the living room to pass the time watching T.V. It should’ve been an activity that didn’t involve any talking, but Soul had apparently watched the entirety of the selection on Netflix and found everything extremely quotable. 

“Is there anything you  _ haven’t _ seen?” Maka grumbled, scrolling through the anime section with high hopes. 

“Uh, maybe some horror films? But if you put on something with jump scares, I will take your precious robe with me back out in the rain because I don’t need that kind of stress in my life.” 

“How do you have time for this? Do you even sleep?”

Soul sighed, like she’d hit a sore spot. “Not really.”

The rueful smile on his face said all too much about how serious he was, and Maka decided to stop poking him about it. 

She put on a nature documentary instead. 

“And what is this?” He snorted.

“David Attenborough’s voice is very soothing. So... take a nap or something while your clothes are drying.”

Soul scoffed at her explanation but she noticed that within seconds, his eyes were glued to the screen as some baby snow leopards came on. He was good about not spreading into her side of the couch, and she could almost forget about the extra person in the apartment if it weren’t for the occasional gasp.

“This has a really nice sound track,” he eventually commented. “Very moving.”

“I find baby animals moving,” Maka countered, though really she was happy to find her neighbor capable of enjoying educational television.  

At some point into the hour, they were both shocked out of their reverie by the honk of the dryer timer, and Maka darted to retrieve Soul’s clothes. The night could only go up from there, and having having her, decidedly male, neighbor properly covered would be a big improvement.

“Here,” she said, tossing the warm bundle at his face, the penultimate occurrence of the action.

“Oof. Guess I’ll go change back into my own underwear.” He was too sarcastic for her fragile heart. 

“They are not my underwear,” she declared vehemently. 

“Boxers are men’s underwear, nerd.”

“Well I wear them as pajamas. Go put your stupid emo clothes back on,” Maka snapped. She might be going a little hard on the insults, but he was throwing her off base with his expressive eyes and dimple adorned smirk.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Soul downright twirled the belt of her robe as he sauntered down the hallway. He probably knew she was looking at his (barely covered by terrycloth) rear, but there was no stopping this trainwreck now. Maka expected him to head back to the bathroom, so when he casually dipped into her own room to change clothes, she had to intervene. 

She stormed after him and burst in with an indignant,  _ “Hey!” _

At least he had the sense to look embarrassed, though maybe that was because he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and okay Maka didn’t know that backs were a thing she cared about but his was definitely good. 

“Don’t you knock?” he yelped.

“This is _ my _ room!” she hissed. 

“So you told me to go change, then walk in on me like a perv.”

Maka could feel her nostrils flaring against her will. There really wasn’t anything she should be pissed over, she was just mad on principle -- and for him accusing her of having impure intentions. So what if she was getting distracted by his snowy happy trail? Wait. White? Her eyes widened and she couldn’t help but stutter,

“You are really dedicated to your look.”  

“Excuse me?”

“Your hair!” She flailed a little towards his head before sweeping vaguely at his crotch.

“You…” Soul’s whole body flushed and he reached for the robe he had hung on the back of the chair so he could cover himself. “You think I dye my hair?”

“Clearly you do.”

“And you’re suggesting I dye my… pubic hair?” 

Clearly she had hit a sore spot. “It’s not my business what you want to do with your appearance.”

“You realize that would involve putting abrasive chemicals on my junk?” 

Maka gulped. She didn’t know what to say -- Soul was obviously defensive about it, but what other explanation was there.

“You think I put bleach in my  _ eyes? _ ”

“Hah?”

“Look at my eyelashes.” He perched on the edge of her bed and reeled her in with a wave of his hand. 

She was hesitant to get that close to his face again, but it was really in the name of science. Data had to be collected. David Attenborough wouldn’t shy away from a white shark no matter how hard he scowled. Soul certainly was scowling, and Maka desperately wanted to smooth out the crease between those silvery eyebrows. One hand planted next to him, she leaned in to get a good look at his eyes. He blinked once, twice. Long,  _ long _ , downy eyelashes, like dandelion fluff, fluttered at her. 

Oh God. She tilted his chin up the examine the pale stubble growing in, then she sought his forearms and brushed through the fine, nearly invisible (because it was freaking white) hair there too. Her life was a lie. 

“Are you done checking me out?”

She flung her pillow at his face and fled the scene. 

“Maka, wait!” He was chasing her back into the living room and in slow motion around the couch while she threw every cushion she owned at him. “Is it that weird?”

“Huh?” She froze mid chuck. “No, what? It looks good on you -- I’m just too embarrassed to live.”

“Then why are you throwing pillows at me?” The look on his face was just so sincere, riddled with confusion and a dash of hurt. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” It came out more like a shriek than Maka intended, but it got her the intended effect -- Soul looked at the ground instead of reading her like a book. 

“Do you want me to leave?” White eyebrows furrowed adorably in concern and her heart was back on the fast track to melting. 

“No, no, sit, stay -- you should just sleep here anyway -- on the couch of course, your roommate seems like a maniac and is probably doing something gross.” Something made her blab while she put the room back together, replacing the cushions and nuding Soul into a complacent position on the couch. He was still looking at her like she was something fascinating, and she just couldn’t handle that particular expression on his beautiful face right now. The clear answer was to announce that she was going to bed and leave him there. 

Deep down, Maka knew she was being rude and immature -- she’d apologize later with baked goods or something, if he ever wanted anything to do with her again after this disaster of an evening. She buried her face in her pillow, trying desperately to quell the unreasonable butterflies she was getting. 

At some point, she must’ve drifted off, since she woke abruptly from a dream at the ungodly hour of 5:00 AM with a bad case of dry mouth. The television was turned down too low to hear, but Maka could see the colors lighting up Soul’s face when she went out to get a glass of water. He looked peaceful, transfixed with half lidded eyes.

“Not sleeping?” Maka called quietly from the kitchen.

Soul rolled his head towards her. “Nah.”

“Sorry, the couch isn’t comfortable.”

“No -- it’s nice -- I just don’t sleep much.” His gaze drew her in like a moth to flame, and she quickly found herself sitting next to him watching ‘Unlikely Animal Couples.’

Maka sipped her water and offered the glass without hesitation.

“Not going back to bed?” her neighbor asked.

“No, I was having some weird dream about skeletons trying to steal my face or something.”

“Sounds gross,” he snorted.

Maka only hummed in answer -- maybe she could get on his frequency.

Inevitably, she ended up dozing off, and when she woke, there was a fresh pot of coffee on, and the quilt from her bed draped clumsily on her shoulders. The apartment was quiet, and empty. 

Maka didn’t see Soul around. He still moved like a cat, and she could never catch him coming in or out. It was clearly not meant to be a repeat occurrence.  

So, to say she was surprised when he appeared in front of her at the circulation desk a week later would be an understatement. 

“Hey,” she squeaked. 

“When you said you worked at the library, I thought you meant the city library. Then I realized there was like, a totally unreasonable number of branches of the city library, and you don’t work at any of them.”

_ Oh God.  _ “You didn’t realize I meant the university library?”

“No -- and I don’t come in here frequently either.” Soul’s head was leaned down on the desk so she couldn’t see his face, only hear the low, exasperated chuckle escaping him.

“Why didn’t you just knock on my door?!” she hissed, earning her a look from one of her coworkers that clearly said ‘this is a library, remember?

Soul just kept laughing, albeit quietly. “I don’t know, didn’t want to creep you out.”

“So you show up at my work instead?”

“I also wanted to surprise you? I don’t know? I don’t know how to people.”

“I would’ve been surprised if you knocked on my door. I thought you’d never want to hang out again after that awful night.” Maka desperately wanted to run away from this whole situation and stage a do-over in which she was calm and collected and doesn’t accuse him of dyeing his genitals. 

“Are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had in months.”

“What?”

“Sorry, this is weird. I’m weird.”

“You don’t put bleach on your… delicate parts… so you can’t be that weird,” she countered. 

“Do you want to hang out again?” It was far more blunt and to the point than Maka had learned to expect in their short time meeting, and she could only answer in surprise,

“Sure.” 

“I can’t guarantee I won’t tease you,” Soul warned. 

“I can’t guarantee I won’t throw stuff at you, then -- but I’ll keep it to the soft stuff.”

“Deal.” 

 


	6. What Do You Call Forever?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the DWMA graduation party, Soul disappears from the crowd and Maka does what she does best: seeking him out and keeping him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> giveaway for thefishywitchy on tumblr. content warning for alcohol use

For so long, graduation couldn’t come fast enough. But now that it’s the night after, it seems like the time went by all too quickly. Kid had taken a fair amount of convincing to let Liz and Patty throw a party at the manor, but he had agreed on the condition that it would be just their close friends. Of course, the Thompson sisters are some of the most well-liked girls among the graduating class, and therefore have a lot of very close friends. There’s a lot of people over; certainly a fair number of NOT students have decided to crash, but the house is big enough that it doesn’t feel crowded.

At least, for Maka it doesn’t feel too crowded; her weapon, on the other hand, is in some unknown location and she’s starting to worry about his whereabouts. More likely than not, he’s holed up in a corner, or a closet, avoiding the world and nursing a drink until people go home, but she’s a little drunk herself and wants visual confirmation.

Scoping out the house is a little harder than she originally anticipated, half from sheer size, and half from people stopping her every five seconds to congratulate her on her valedictorian status and chat her up about things she cares far less about than where Soul is.

Liz is the last person to approach her before she actually loses her shit. “Heya Maks.”

She doesn’t even bother with pretenses. “D’you know where Soul went?”

“Um… I haven’t seen him in a bit. Maybe ask Kiddo, he prolly has a better memory right now.” Clearly, Liz is far drunker than Maka and isn’t going to be much help locating her missing person. Fortunately, Kid hit another growth spurt sometime in the last year and is easy to spot, half a head above everyone else. The fact that he can float now doesn’t hurt either.

“Kid!” Maka shouts across the main hall, getting her old friend’s attention the best way she knows how: abruptly.

“Maka…” Kid greets her stiffly, gliding over to the staircase where she stands with Liz. “Are you enjoying yourself? There are a few more people here than I originally thought there would be.”

“Yeah. Good. I’m trying to find Soul.”

Kid rubs his face absentmindedly, like that’ll help jog his memory. “I think he mentioned something about going up on the roof?”

Maka and Liz yelp, “The roof?!” in unison before Maka announces that she’s going to go find him.

The only window she _knows_ leads out there is in Patty’s room, and sure enough, it’s open wide with the breeze drifting in. If she goes out on the roof, though, it’s going to be an endeavor, and may require some supplies. Maka runs back to the kitchen to snag an unopened bottle of champagne, then grabs a sweatshirt from Patty’s closet and a blanket from the bed. It’s a precarious climb -- the edge of the roof just outside is steep, but at least it’s dry thanks to the warm weather.

In hindsight, she really should’ve left at least one hand free to catch herself when she inevitably trips, but she’s a three star meister for goodness sake; if she can’t keep her footing, what good is she?

She does wobble a bit, and hollers as she regains her footing. If she hadn’t been so distracted getting her balance, she would’ve heard tell-tale scuffling further up the roof, but even without the tip-off, she _knows_.

“Maka?” he calls for her, cautious, concerned. Hair that glows fluorescent in the moonlight pops over a ridge. “You okay?”

“Yep, fine.” She hurriedly scrambles up the steep edge to reach the safer space where her weapon sits. He’s situated quite nicely on a shallow slope, boxed in by converging angles but still with plenty of space to see the sky. “I brought wine.”

* * *

 

Assured that she’s not going to fall to her death, he settles back down, though the hair on the back of his neck still prickles with fight or get-Maka-the-fuck-out-of-trouble response. Soul’s meister is going to be the death of him some day and he doesn’t even mind. However it happens, if it’s with her, it’ll be a good way to go. Still, she should be inside rubbing elbows with their classmates, not sitting on a roof with him trying in vain to pop open a bottle of bottom-shelf champagne.

“Here.” He takes the bottle from her, twisting the wire off and popping the cork in an easy movement. “You wino.”

“For your information,” Maka starts, pausing to take a swig before passing him the bottle. “I brought it to share.”

 _Ah. A pity party._ If disappearing from parties is his specialty, hers is finding him. Soul can’t deny he’s happy to see her. Placation has never worked in the past; no matter how much he tells her he’s fine on his own, she always sticks around. He still can’t help but try, at least for his own conscience. “You can go back inside, Maka.”

Maka just scoffs. “Hey now, I didn’t drag a blanket up here for nothing, you cold blooded jerk.”  

There’s no stopping her. Maka nests, nudging him out of the way so she can wrap the edge of the blanket around her shoulders and drape the other side clumsily over his.

“Thanks,” Soul mutters, tugging his side even. He’ll admit, it is warmer with a blanket on his back and a meister trying to wiggle her way under his arm. Subtlety is not his partner’s strength. It’s amusing, not to mention adorable, and he’d rather like to have his arm around her shoulders as well, but that won’t stop him from poking fun at her about it. “Trying to get somewhere?”

He expects a little flustered response, a light smack to the shoulder, an unseen blush. They’ve been dancing on the edge of something for long enough that teasing has morphed into flirting and he lives for it. What he doesn’t expect is for her to growl, grab his hand and drag it around her back with a disgruntled mutter of, “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.”

He snorts, calls her needy, and leans his cheek into her hair. They drink the champagne because it’s there, even though neither one is particularly thirsty or trying to get drunk. Slow going swigs and long pauses don’t do much anyway -- getting them just buzzed enough not to notice when they started holding hands. It’s hard to gauge what time it is exactly when neither one of them has their phone with them. With the light pollution in Death City and the noise inside the house, it could be eleven or it could be two. Regardless, neither one of them mentions going back in.

Soul exhales, long and deep through his nose, before unwrapping his arm from Maka’s shoulder. The reaction is immediate, a dirty look he can sense purely from the hurt radiating through her hands when she clutches the blanket. She doesn’t say anything, but the message is clear: how dare he.

“I’m just trying to lie down,” he tries to explain. Maka’s revenge is to dive her face into his chest, worming her way against (and into) his heart.

It’s her turn to sigh. “Why didn’t you just say somethin’ then?”

Because even if it’s not the first time she’s cuddled up to him, it’s the first time they’ve been a little tipsy when it happened and he doesn’t want to seem like he has any weird ulterior motives. Being curled up with a mostly empty bottle of cheap sparkling wine on a roof doesn’t match up with his romantic pipe dreams. “Eh. Whatever. Quit complaining.”

Apparently satisfied with leaning into his chest and measuring his erratic pulse, Maka quiets for a moment before sleepily muttering, “I wish we could see the stars better.”

“Call up Death City Electric -- shut down the grid.” Soul traces nonsense into her forearm with fingers he’d rather like to bury in her too fine hair.

“You know, I think there’s a meteor shower coming up,” she comments as if star gazing has always been her hobby and not as if she’s only thought of it in this moment while they’re staring at a disappointingly gray sky.

He simply hums in interest, waiting for her to finish her thought.

“We should try to go see it. Drive out of the city, if you’re not too busy.”

His mouth is ahead of his brain and some regrettable things come tumbling out before he can stop himself. “Sounds like a date.”

Maka neither confirms nor denies the insinuation and they get quiet again.

 Soul prods further, leaving more hints than usual in his vulnerable state. His mind is scrambled with late night second-hand-kisses-via-bottle-sharing and meister cuddles. He can’t be held accountable when he says, “I’m not that busy.”

She ignores the offer. “What do you think we’ll do now?”

“Like, _now_ now?” On this roof in this oddly intimate position now?

“Like, now we’ve graduated.”

That’s a lot less concerning to him than whatever heart-to-heart is going on in this instant. The future doesn’t scare him; it all seems very predictable. He and Maka will be together in some fashion or another -- maybe not exactly how he dreams, but together. “I dunno, kick kishin ass.”

“I guess.” She sounds far away, like she’s planning something else, and hearing that inkling of wanting something more is the first thing that makes him concerned for their partnership.

“Unless you want to do something else, that is,” he offers hesitantly. Truthfully, whatever she wants from him, he’ll give it. Preferably that would include working together, living together, breathing together, but if she has other plans he still wants in on them.

Another languid sigh sets him on a razor’s edge, but the way she drapes an arm over his waist possessively dulls the edge. “Not really.”

That’s a relief. “Do you ever think about your whole future?”

“Well, yeah,” she answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it’s something everyone should do to keep up to date. Soul doesn’t mention that the only constant he sees in the future is her and the rest matters very little to him. His partner has always had different priorities, and he knows that.

It doesn’t stop him from trying to pry a little bit further. “Okay, so where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Maka shrugs, takes another sip from the near empty bottle. “I wanna travel, but… our job already lets us do that.”

Us _. Us_ , she said. That’s promising at least, but he needs more intel. “Do you think you have a destiny or anything?”

The snort she makes is rueful, and a lot less optimistic than the Maka he met ten years ago has lead him to expect. “I think I have a legacy, but we’ve already fulfilled that. So, no -- not really.”

“What about soulmates?”

In the following moments, his heart promptly decides to stop functioning as she tilts her chin up in slow motion, eyes wide and glimmering in the low light. “You mean, like you?”

If only she thought of him that way. His heart flutters uncooly at the implications, but realistically they’re just not on the same page. He suspects there’s attraction there, buried under a heap of intimacy issues and slightly puritanical internalized misogyny. But attraction on her side isn’t equivalent to his own bone-crushing, soul-sucking life-revolves-around-Maka-Albarn feelings. “No, I mean… someone you wanna be with and spend your life with and stuff. Someone who’s gonna help you be your best self and all that.”

“Still sounds like you’re talking about yourself, stupid,” Maka mutters, while she kills the bottle and lays it down on the roof. Soul is still sputtering when it starts rolling away. The crash of breaking glass on the driveway when it inevitably falls sobers them both.

He could try to muster up energy to care, or to make fun of his partner for letting it roll away from her, but he’s too tired to say anything but, “Well, shit.”

Maka is wobbling to her feet before he can stop her, though, and tripping her way closer to the edge to look below. “What if someone got hurt?”

“Glass on someone’s head would make a different sound than on concrete,” he says matter-of-factly, flailing around to grab her hand and pull her back. “Now come back here before you fall off the roof.”

“That’s horrible! What if that _had_ happened?” Maka yelps.

“Uh… then I’d have to help _you_ hide the body, since _you_ let the bottle roll away. Then we’d have to go on the run ‘cause _you’d_ be wanted for manslaughter.”

“Shut up, that would not kill someone.” Maybe it’s weird that the higher and more hysterical her voice gets, the cuter he finds her, but he’s not about to question it. “Maybe we should go back inside.”

 _But that would break the spell that makes her cuddle into his side and tell him he’s her soulmate._ “I dunno -- I think I’m just gonna stay up here.”

“All night?! Soul!”

He shrugs. The damage is done. “I dunno, I mean I’m not going to ride the motorcycle back home after drinking…”

Against all odds, Maka wanders back over, still skeptical but he can tell she’s not entirely against the idea. “That’s true, you have been drinking. Are you sure you don’t want to go in? I bet we could find a good spot to crash.”

There’s that pesky _‘we’_ and _‘us’_ thing again that makes him want to shake her and ask what the hell is the connotation of all that? He shrugs. “If you want.”

“I at least want to get some water,” she mumbles. “I can bring it back out here if you want.”

He must be dreaming. The only reasonable explanation that he can think of is that she’s fine with sleeping on the floor, or the roof, or wherever because she wants to do it _with him._ Holy shit, okay. Though, sleeping with him and _sleeping with him_ aren’t really tied together and he shouldn’t be making unreasonable assumptions about the future just yet. Soul hardly notices Maka disappear over one peak of the roof, though she’s back so quickly it doesn’t matter.

“We might have a problem.” He knows that voice; she really means they _definitely_ have a problem. “The window is shut.”

“What?”

“Everyone must’ve gone to sleep -- Patty must’ve closed the window.”

“Oh. Um. Shit. Well…” Of course he can’t think of any good solutions now. Typical.

Maka doesn’t even look too bothered, though, as she climbs back over to their nook. “I guess we’ll just stay up here, then.”

“I’m sure I can figure out a way to get down,” he lies; he’s really not sure at all. Standing up and peeking around the edges, there’s no obvious way about it. Kid keeps his trees far too well manicured for there to be any branches close enough for them to climb over to.

“It’s fine.” She settles back into the blanket, patting the space next to her. Soul can’t even pretend to be reluctant to scoot in close to his meister and pull her down to lay her head on his chest. This is the stuff dreams are made of. “I dunno what I’m gonna do if I have to pee, though.”

“Pfft. You’ll have to pee off the roof.”

A hand smacks his stomach violently. “Gross!”

“Just don’t think about it. Go to sleep.” He puts a hand over her ear, as if he could shut out the late night noise of constant traffic and club music from down the street.

The unintended consequence is that she can hear his heartbeat much more clearly and she comments on this fact casually. He grumbles, calls her a nerd, brushes his lips against the top of her head.

* * *

 

Gray pre-dawn light wakes Maka from her half-sleep. It’s cold, unseasonably so for June, but Soul has taken off his leather jacket and draped it over her bare legs, which are currently curled up against him like the rest of her.

“Soul?” she mumbles. He looks like he’s still asleep but he could just as easily be faking it.

“Hng, Maka, I’m trying to focus on flying.” Oh. He’s dreaming, about flying, how silly. Except, that’s definitely one of their very real abilities and that fact had completely slipped her mind last night.

“Soul!” she repeats, louder this time, shaking him by the shirt collar. “We can fly.”

He startles awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in a way that she should not find attractive. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“We can fly -- to get off the roof. Transform.”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Even realizing the solution, he’s still slow to stand, stretching widely and yawning loudly. Soul shivers. His jacket is still over her legs, but he shakes his head when she tries to offer it to him. “Keep it.”

In a flash, he’s demon steel with wings sharp enough to cut glass. Maka puts his jacket on properly, wraps the blanket around her shoulders, and mounts him.

In weapon form, his voices comes tinny and muted. “Ready?”

A shoulder roll and a yawn of her own and she replies, “Ready.”

Getting down from the roof takes next to no effort, certainly nothing worth staying up there overnight, even if her Papa always says that flying under the influence is just as bad as driving.

The mansion is dead quiet when they peek inside, their classmates sprawled all over in a variety of positions that look incredibly uncomfortable to sleep in; the most notable example was Black Star, upside down, face down on the floor while his legs still cling to a couch.

“Where’s your purse?” Soul mouths. “I think my keys and phone are in it.”

Maka grabs it from the coat closet without answering and tosses her weapon’s keys to him from across the room. “Let’s go home.”

The ride is quiet, and Maka wonders if Soul is watching the sunrise while they navigate the streets of Death City back to their apartment. She leans into his back, turning her head to see pink seep into the gray from below the horizon. Once they’re inside, the spell is broken, though.

“Fuck, I need a long hot shower,” Soul growls, leaving her in the living room to stew. He doesn’t actually take as long as he usually does, coming padding back out of the bathroom after a relatively short fifteen minutes. He hums absent mindedly and her stomach twists. For some reason he’s decided to stand _right_ behind the couch to dry his hair. Maka can feel his soul there, hear his music, but can’t see him without turning around -- which she refuses to do.

“Hey, what’d you mean about all that soulmate stuff last night?” She hadn’t been thinking about it too seriously in the moment -- it’s always seemed clear to her that they were going to spend their lives together, but what if it was his way of trying to tell her there was someone else he’d rather be with?

He ruffles her hair and she can tell he’s smiling from the amusement in his voice. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well I am worrying about it.” Maka brings her knees up to the couch in one smooth movement so she can lean over the back. “Were you trying to tell me something?”

“Mm. Yeah, but if you didn’t get it, you probably never will.”

That’s not comforting _at all_ , and she’s going to give him a piece of her mind -- by glaring at him and hoping his precious hair goes flat in the middle of the day. He must sense her evil intent, and tries to smooth the crease on her forehead with his thumbs, his fingertips spreading soft and warm on either side of her head. When that doesn’t work, he tries again with his mouth and her face goes so slack her jaw drops.

“I told you, don’t worry about it.”    


	7. Simmer Down & Pucker Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul doesn't like formal events very much, but Maka pulls some tricks to make it a little more bearable. PWP for Soma NSFW Week 2016

There are few things Soul hates more than formal events. Wearing a suit and having to spend such a high proportion of his time making small talk reminds him a little too much of home. He left for Death City to fight monsters and watch T.V. late at night without any repercussions, not to stand around being cooed over. That brat, Kid, had tried to convince him he’d  _ ‘get used to it,’ _ and that it was  _ ‘part of the job description,’  _ to make an appearance. Bull shit. He does not get paid enough for this. 

Getting to ogle his partner in formal wear should be a redeeming factor but she and her tight black dress are nowhere to be seen. He stands on his tip toes, craning to get a couple extra inches above the crowd to search her out, which would of course be easy if she’d had as much of a growth spurt as him. Damn Maka and her tiny self. 

Some hoity-toity donor is mouth breathing while blabbering on about life insurance but Soul has no attention to give the guy. A tinkling laugh makes him whip his head around --  Maka isn’t that far off after all, just lost in a sea of black clothes and people with half a head or more of height on her. 

“Excuse me, Sir,” Soul manages to growl before absent mindedly handing his drink to the nearest person and making a beeline for his meister. She catches his eye when he’s halfway across the room and has the nerve to wink at him. She’d vanished into the crowd the moment they’d arrived! She should know not to leave him on his own at these gala-benefit-thingies. Adulthood has not made needless socialization any easier on him. 

He slinks into the gap beside her, snaking an arm possessively around her waist. Whoever these cleancut gentlemen (who are chatting her up with cheshire grins) are should know that she already has a very devoted weapon around to see to all of her needs.  _ All of them _ . “Maka,” he says low in her ear. His intent is clearly to get a rise out of her, but she just turns to him calmly, smile placid.

“Soul,” she returns his greeting a little too formally. “This is…”

Brad, Chad, and Chuck fill in their names in order, though they all look exactly the same in Soul’s eyes -- trust fund babies, like him. Only, unlike him, they revel and roll in the privilege afforded them. And now they’re making small talk with his partner as if they have a chance in hell with her. It’s not like the function of the event is to network and show Shibusen’s good face, or anything. It’s not like Maka is that good face, or like this is mandatory or anything.  

Jealousy doesn’t suit him well, and he knows it, so he keeps it contained in the pit of his stomach and the light grip he has on her hip. The winsome threesome keep talking about some inane crap, probably country clubs, but Soul’s undivided attention is focused on the feeling of Maka’s underwear through her dress. He’d answered honestly when she’d asked him if she had any panty lines, but just because he can’t see it through ribbed black fabric doesn’t mean he can’t feel it. Her hand trails over his and he expects her to move him away, but then she’d always been a master of the unexpected.  

Incredibly, she leans back against him, sighs through her nose, and whispers, “D’you wanna dance?” 

_ Oh, does he ever.  _ Of course, the dancing he’d really like to be doing isn’t particularly appropriate for public, but he can settle. It’s ridiculous; it’s not like her dress is even short. It’s even more on the proper side of cocktail attire, knee length, with a turtleneck, but then it’s sleeveless and hip hugging and her rear looks criminal. He wants to touch, wants to press into her, wants to bend her over and--

“Soul?” She blinks up at him with long lashes. Maybe he was thinking too loud.  

He nods slowly, realizing he’d been been too busy fantasizing about taking her home and stripping her to answer her question. 

Her lips curl upward, a secret poised in the left corner as she says, “Excuse me, gentlemen,” to the bozos intruding on (what should be) their private time. 

It’s a little crowded in the drawing room and they have to squeeze between people to get to the hall where some light jazz drifts lazily on the airwaves. Maka holds his hand tightly in hers, pulling him through thick and thin to get some space. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know,” Soul growls, disgruntled when she man handles him into a waltz position and tries to lead him in a backwards shuffle around the room. She really should know better than to pull that when she’s only three parts grace and one part bad rhythm.

The same less than innocent smile is still at home on her face, and her eyes flicker with amusement, the devil. “Is that a good thing or bad thing?”

He can tell she’s teasing him, but he hasn’t figured out exactly what game she’s playing and he’d really like to be a full participant in it. Oh well. At least he can dance properly. Grip tightening on her hip, he leans in closer, pulling her up against his chest so he can breathe in her ear, “Good thing -- though your dancing could use a little work.”

“Guess you’ll have to lead, then.” Green eyes challenge him and he tries to steer the course of their turning around the room. Maka lets him, though her fingers are twisting through the fine hairs at his nape and it’s driving him up the wall. No one should have the right to look so good and get him raring to go with infinitesimal touches. If he’s gonna be stuck here, he’s about an inch away from dragging her off to some entirely inappropriate location and--

“Soul?”  _ Thinking too loud, again _ . “When do you wanna go home?” 

“Huh?” Since when was that an option? It’s only barely approaching eleven and there’s still probably hours left of the function.

She blinks, once, twice, purses her lips. “Kid already did the speeches, and we’ve made an appearance--”

“Right now,” Soul blurts without hesitation. There’s no question in his mind about when to go home, the answer is always going to be right now and _ can they please stay there permanently and maybe never put clothes on?    _

Maka doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest at his quick response; she just tells him to meet her at the door because she has to get her coat and purse from Liz’s room and he has to resist the strong urge to cheer. He makes a beeline for the exit, rudely ignoring anyone who tries to start up a conversation.

His meister appears at his side shortly, sneaking up behind him and surreptitiously slipping a hand into his back pocket. “Ready to go?”

_ So ready.  _ He’s never been more ready in his life, especially if his partner is apparently in the mood to grab his butt because that can only mean good things. They climb on the motorcycle and the prospect of Maka clambering on the back of the thing in that dress is a dizzying prospect, one Soul is aggravated not to be able to see properly. But somehow she always manages these things with her modesty intact; in a flash she’s squeezing his waist and whispering in his ear for him to, “Go.”

He’s so busy trying not to get distracted by her fingers tracing his belt buckle to even spend a moment thinking about her dress hiked up behind him. Maka means business, business he’s incredibly excited to take part in. 

She’s on him the second they enter the apartment. Any seduction plan he’d had goes out the window when she slams his back into the wall and climbs him like a tree. Suddenly it’s all he can do to keep up with her biting kisses, though carrying her to the bedroom is next on the agenda if he can get his brain to work with her furiously unbuttoning his shirt. How the hell is she even staying wrapped around him while using her hands for other things? Wiry legs constrict around his hips --  _ Ah. There’s the answer. _

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know,” she murmurs between nipping his neck and catching his earlobe between the same teeth she’d been using to smile so sweetly at him less than an hour earlier. 

This whole night Soul had been thinking he was the one with the big plans, but then she totally got the jump on him and he’s totally turned on by it. If there’s a witty comeback he certainly can’t think of it. All he’s capable of is groaning into her neck and trying to get his hands on every inch of her still dress-covered body. Now she has his shirt opened down to his belt but she’s still fully clothed -- what’s up with that? 

But there’s only so much he can do while he’s backed up against a wall… Maka’s feet aren’t even on the ground though, so what is he thinking? He can just carry them into the bedroom. A glorious plan to which she responds with enthusiasm, sucking on his neck the second he starts stumbling down the hall in a sexy-Maka-induced stupor. 

Piling Maka into the bed and crawling on top of her does nothing to her resolve to keep control of the situation, her legs wrapping around his waist again without a moment of hesitation. At least now he has a little leverage and can knead her hips through her dress with reckless abandon while she nips his bottom lip.

“Maka,” he groans. “This dress…”

Despite his inability to form a full sentence, she grins into his neck and says, “I knew you were giving me eyes -- not subtle.” 

He doesn’t even have an ounce of focus to direct towards a retort; all cylinders are firing just touching her as much as he can while fervently wishing she’d make as quick work of his belt as she had with his shirt buttons. In the meantime he can grope and grind and pray for mercy. 

Mercy isn’t in the cards. Maka drives hard, bucking and squirming and running her hands down his chest in all kinds of distracting ways (he just about blows a gasket the second she tweaks his nipple,) gasping his name all the while and saying, “I want you. Now.”

Soul may had been ready to go the second they walked in the door, or the second they’d gotten the motorcycle; it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment he’d gone from zero to stone hard. But if there’s one thing he’s learned the hard way, it’s that female arousal is a tricky business, not something to be rushed. “Right now?”

“Fuck,” Maka hisses under her breath. “Yes. Right now.” She wiggles out from under him, perching on her knees at the head of the bed and tugging up the hem of her dress. 

Maybe he needs to be told twice but he certainly doesn’t need to be told three times. Soul starts unbuckling his belt as fast as his fumbling fingers can carry him until Maka reaches a point that makes him turn his head curiously to the side. Her nylons were not just any nylons, they were stockings, pinned to black garters that cut down her thighs in the most incredible way. Shit. 

This whole time she’d had this up her sleeve, or well, dress. Shit shit shit!

“Turn around,” he whispers, a request disguised vaguely as a command, though draped in reverent hesitancy, it’s hard to have resolve. Still, Maka’s eyes flash and she complies, an awkward twist to shift her back to him, and he delicately takes the hem of her dress from her grip into his own before pressing himself to her. 

“You like them?” she asks as if it’s even a question. He just runs his free hand up her thigh, twisting his fingers in the strap. The contrast between skin and fabric is marvelous, and that’s not even taking into account that her ass is arched against his dick. 

Slowly, carefully, he inches her dress up higher, his thumbs hooked inside, ready to run across whatever inevitably sexy underwear she’s prepared for this occasion. Since she’d apparently been much more prepared than him, and here he was thinking he was the one being so smooth when she’d probably been planning this reveal all night. Will it be lace? A thong? Black like the garter? The possibilities are endless and all of them are good. But the higher he reaches, the more it becomes clear that he’s a complete amateur and that Maka Albarn is going to be the death of him. 

Soul comes up to the garter belt, the lacey yet functional contraption he’d been running his hands across through her death earlier that night. There are no panties in sight. 

“Maka…”

She braces herself against the headboard like it’s the most casual thing in the world, turning to face him over her shoulder. “What?”

“All night… You…” His brain may not be working, but at least his hands know exactly what to do, greedily hiking her clothes up to her waist and grazing their way back down to cup her butt in one hand and her pussy in the other. “Fuck.” 

His head falls to her shoulder in defeat. 

“I didn’t know how early we’d be able to leave.” Maka wiggles. “I thought we might have to do it in a closet.” 

_ ‘Have to do it in a closet,’  _ she says, as if it’s a bitter necessity and like her whole tryst had been for practicality’s sake and not the result of some hair-brained sex plot involving going to a formal event with no undergarments. 

Her whole body shudders when he dips into her folds. Apparently she can get aroused a lot faster than he anticipated -- either that or she’s been walking around, riding on his motorcycle getting turned on just  _ knowing _ how he’d react to her devious plan. It’s too much to comprehend when he’s this hard. Plus, she’s looking at him like she needs him.

Goddamn he needs to get his shit together and unzip his pants. Of course it’s a little hard to do with Maka rocking her hips back into him, throwing him off while he tries to manage one handed because there’s no way he’s going to stop brushing his thumb against her clit from here on out. 

The way she gasps under his ministrations is everything he could hope for.

After no small amount of floundering, Soul gets his pants and boxers far enough down to get his dick out and slide between her thighs in the most gratifying moment of the night. Her skin is so soft, and with the slickness there, it would be plenty for him to just hold her hips and thrust like this (they’ve certainly done it before.)

But then Maka whines, “I need you inside,” and he’s always been one to give her what she asks for. The whole long term relationship and birth control thing has its perks, and not having to break away from his meister to dig around for a condom is certainly one of them. Avoiding unplanned pregnancy is of course the top priority, but given the option, keeping one hand on her lower stomach and the other between her legs is preferable. 

Her flesh is molten hot, melting him as he pushes inside. Molten hot, and  _ tight _ , she’s squeezing down, making him see stars. Can that be comfortable? It’s frightening how good it feels for  _ him _ , how much it makes him want to slam into her repeatedly, when there’s a little inkling in the back of his brain that maybe minimal foreplay wasn’t the best idea.

“Maka,” he groans, “Is this okay? You’re really tense _. _ ”

Her walls twitch on cue and she leans heavy on the headboard with a soft moan. She laughs, a little breathy, a little chagrined. “My legs are just a little close together… But it’s good.” He nudges her knees further apart and she relaxes enough for him to move properly, which should be much better for her. She amends her previous statement to, “ _ You _ feel really good.”      

The feeling is certainly mutual. Her skin is a boon to him, even with such a limited amount available between the edge of her dress around her waist and the top of her thigh highs. He takes advantage of every spare inch, caressing and groping his way down one leg and up the other as she shifts and cants her hips impatiently, silently begging him to move. But he’s selfish, busy with cataloging her every hitch and sigh while he thumbs her garters. 

It’s not until she reaches one flexible arm back to grab his ass for the second time that night that he bucks forward by instinct and gets into a rhythm, hard and fast, sending her to hang onto the headboard for support. And every time he drives into her, she arches back into him with a squeak, mirroring his every move with one of her own. The pace is exhausting, but when she calls for him, he must come, and he crashes against her like a wave against a rock. Though he can tell she’s wearing down and winding up, as close to collapse as she is to climax. 

His arm constricts around her waist, holding her flushing body close as her quick pants halt altogether, the quiet before the storm. Maka’s whole body jerks before her release, but in the moment she freezes, her breath frozen in her lungs while he races to join her. Clenching spasms can’t stop him now -- especially not when she peeks at him over her shoulder, cheeks pink and hair plastered to her face, watching him in earnest as he falls over the edge.

There’s no way they could’ve come back to the party if this had gone down in a closet.      

When Soul finally melts off of her to the side, he’s surprised Maka doesn’t join him in flopping down to the bed. Instead, she starts hurriedly yanking her dress over her head and peeling her garter belt down while he unabashedly stares, eyes boggling. 

“What’re you doing?” he mumbles into the pillow, completely lacking whatever energy she still has to move after that. 

She finishes dropping her clothes to the floor. “Getting ready for round two.”  


	8. Questionable Outcomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul and Maka take a totally platonic bath together for totally platonic reasons, but things go a little awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Soma NSFW Week 2016 Day 6: Eye Contact

Falling in love with her weapon was never Maka’s plan, but then it snuck up on her and now here she is, sitting on the couch and trying hard not to think about him in the bath. She’s turned out to be her father’s daughter after all, and her feelings toward Soul are an equal mix of soul-crushing affection and an unchecked desire to touch his chest, and maybe hear him moan a little. It’s debilitating. She’s trying her best to just shove her nose into her textbook where it belongs, but she can hear the water running in the bathroom and that means Soul is probably  _ naked _ in there.  _ Shinigami help her. _

Fate is cruel, and crueler still is when Soul calls for her, voice tinged with desperation.

“Maka!” 

She slams the book shut. “What?!” she yells back, her voice a little shriller than anticipated or intended. “Did you forget to get a towel out of the laundry again?” 

It wouldn’t be the first Towel Incident. Just a month ago he’d yelled for her to bring his towel from his room where he’d left it hanging over the bed like a total slob. Dutifully, she’d stood by the door while he cracked it open to reach through. From the sliver of Soul she’d seen, the only thing she can clearly remember is that he had been completely wet, and he’s been hiding jagged hip bones that make her want to sin. The rest is tied up in unbidden fantasies and unruly daydreams. 

“No,” Soul answers, swinging open the door as haughtily as he can manage. He stands in front of her, hip bones and all, with water dripping down his chest and a towel around his waist. “I need you to get in the tub.” 

All Maka can manage is a tiny, confused, “Huh?” 

In reality, she spends an inordinate amount of time playing out scenarios in which her partner says any number of romantic or sexual things to her. Her imagination knows no bounds, and the number of times she’s pictured what it would be like for him to confess, romantically, after a battle, in the black room, in a quiet moment between them, is infinite. Other scenarios have him pressing her against the wall and maybe biting her neck -- releasing some of the tension she wishes were less one sided. 

Having him tell her he wants, no,  _ needs _ , her to get in the tub with him isn’t something she’s ever considered, though, and she’s sure she approves of this new fantasy. 

“The hot water tank isn’t big enough to fill the tub the whole way with just me sitting in it,” he explains. Pink tinges his cheeks and his neck, undoubtedly from the bath. Clearly he’s already tested the water level if he’s this…  _ dripping. _

“Uhuh.” She nods dumbly, internally screaming at herself to maintain eye contact and not let her gaze drift to his wiry stomach and very interesting trail of hair-

He abruptly cuts off her train of thought with, “So I need you to get in and displace water.” 

Ah. So that’s what this hair brained plot is about. This isn’t a romantic invitation for a sexy bath -- just utilitarian need for something else in the tub to raise the water level because of their piece of crap heater. 

“Why don’t you just take a shower?” she suggests, indignant. 

“Because all the hot water is already in the tub, if I let it out it’ll be a waste. Besides, my shoulders are  _ really _ sore after training today.” And there’s the guilt trip over her keeping him after training for an extra hour to practice on their own. “So can you just put on your swimsuit and come in here? It’s a  _ bath, _ it’ll feel  _ good,  _ and I promise I’ll give you a foot rub or something if you just please--”

“Okay.” Honestly, she’s sold on the massage bribe, and grovelling is a huge weak spot of hers. It’ll be fine. Just two friends taking a totally casual bath together (in their swimsuits) with no funny business. 

Soul’s eyebrows shoot through the roof; apparently she’s broken him. He’s incredulous, upward inflection exaggerated as he gasps, “Really?”

Maka can feel herself catching his blush. “You shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t really want me to,” she huffs, feeling entirely like she’s been played.

“Oh, no, I’m just surprised you actually agreed to-- I’ll be right back.” He disappears into his room and Maka heaves a sigh. There’s nothing to do now but put on her bikini and get in the tub before he can get back and crack a joke about her breasts. It’s been a few years since it’s happened; he’s long outgrown his crass comment phase, but it still haunts her just how much her weapon is  _ not into her _ .   

Of course, as luck would have it, she does not make it back to the bathroom before Soul (stupid tangled ties) so she comes in to see him waiting expectantly in anchor print trunks. She doesn’t miss the instinctive once over he gives her, though she can’t discern what’s going on behind his poker face. Her arms rise to cross over her chest defensively. With a glare she hopes shoots daggers, Maka climbs into the tub and curls her knees up to leave space for her weapon, with the added bonus that they hide her pathetic boob situation. 

She sighs. At least the one major perk of this awkward predicament is that the water admittedly feels great. “Did you put stuff in here?” she asks, belatedly taking in the soft lavender smell. 

“Uhh… Liz may or may not have gotten me a gift card for Lush. And I may have gotten some bath salts -- don’t judge me.” 

He won’t hear any complaints from her -- whatever weird masculine pride he has about keeping his myriad of bathroom products a secret, Maka doesn’t mind in the slightest. But then, the true test comes; Soul clambers into the tub across from her and realization hits that there are only two ways to do this. They can sit face to face, staring at each other the whole while, or one of them can lean back against the other, a feat of intimacy that would probably breach everything Maka has ever considered platonic. Soul opts for facing her, stretching his legs out to one side to courteously give her some space, though his feet do nudge into her side a bit. The water level is ideal. 

After what feels like a century (but is probably only three minutes) of direct eye contact, Soul says, “Gimme your foot,” and reaches across to grab her. 

“Hey!” Maka yelps in surprise, her legs tensing up. How dare he try to unfold her precious barrier? 

“I told you I’d rub your feet, now hand them over,” he says, as if she can just pass them like a salt shaker. Not like they’re attached to her body or anything. 

She sinks down in defeat, cautiously extending her legs so her weapon can reach them. All apprehension melts from her body the second he puts careful pressure on her arches, his pianist hands apparently multi-talented. She’s been on the receiving end of more than one magic backrub from her partner, in exchange for walking on his back, but it’s been a while and she didn’t realize how sore she’d gotten from training too. Eyes flickering, Maka relaxes into her side of the tub, leaning to the side and not even giving a damn about the faucet poking her in the ribs. In a moment of clarity, she catches Soul’s stare and immediately sobers. Her face must be totally embarrassing right now, her mouth hanging open in sheer bliss. She slams it shut and resolves to keep it together while he presses forward. 

Firm hands slide up her ankles, fingertips gently pressing and kneading into her calves.  _ Death help her, that feels good.  _ It’s pure torture, trying to keep a lid on it while the object of her devotion caresses his way up to her knees. 

Maka moans despite herself. The second the sound comes out, she clamps her lips shut, muffling it into a whimper, but there’s no way Soul didn’t notice. On the contrary, she can see realization dawn on his face -- she’s put her foot in it now! A sly smile lifts up on one edge of his face and he scooches closer to her, as if they aren’t crammed enough already. All the while, he’s grazing higher up her legs, tickling behind her knees and tracing circles on the backs of her thighs. 

He’s too close. Her face is burning and hot bath water certainly isn’t helping. Apparently on a mission to drive her crazy, he’s almost on top of her now, one arm bracing his position to keep from squashing her while he squeezes her leg, too close to her butt for comfort. Worse still, he’s staring at her like he’s hungry. 

It’s too much, and in a panic, she shoves him back and howls, curling back in on herself in a single motion like a venus fly trap. “Stop it already!” 

“Sorry.” Soul retreats to his end like a kicked dog stuttering, “I thought you were into it.” 

“You can’t just mess with my feelings like that.” Her legs shake, and she’s on the verge of tears, too nervous to function.  _ What the hell was that?  _ And then… how much had been intentional? 

There’s that confused look again, like he doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. “Huh? Why would I do that?”

She could scream. He should’ve figured it out by now, crawling up in her space like that, on the warpath towards something akin to being sexual without all the repressed romcom junk  _ she _ constantly has to tamp down.  _ Men. _ Soul may be considerate and loyal under the bristle and defensive sarcasm, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some pent up lust in there too. He’s a healthy, young adult male, and she’s here and practically naked; it’s perfectly reasonable, much as she’d like to pretend it isn’t the case. Having that directed towards _ her, _ though... That parts stings when she’s so firmly in the camp of wanting to spend her life with him, hurts. 

Maka swallows the pain of his unspoken rejection and tries to wrap her head around the insinuations of all this and how she’s going to handle it while Soul still has his head tilted to the side in bemusement. 

“Look,” she starts, entirely unsure how she’s going to finish. “Maybe this was a bad idea -- we’re not kids anymore and I guess you have… needs and I can’t say I haven’t thought about it but I don’t think I can do some casual thing.” It all comes tumbling out in a rush while her weapon just looks at her like she’s sprouted a second head.

“Haven’t thought about it-- What are you talking about? Casual?” 

“Soul!” She splashes him, annoyed. “You almost touched my ass!” 

He shrinks back even more, regret in his eyes. “I said I’m sorry, it seemed like you liked me touching you but then--” 

At this point she doesn’t know up from down anymore. With the way he’s talking, it sounds like he was doing something for  _ her  _ sake, which might not be entirely inaccurate the way she was getting so absorbed with him touching her like that. Regardless, something isn’t getting across.  

They need to set the record straight. Point blank, Maka asks, “Are you into me?” 

The reaction is immediate. Soul leans against the wall and casts his eyes to the ceiling in full avoidance mode, mumbling, “‘S a bit more than that, Maka.” A long pause before he speaks again, his voice low and his gaze piercing. “You’re not the only one in this apartment with feelings.” 

She frowns.

Soul sighs. “Don’t talk to me about ‘casual’ when you don’t know shit about anything. I wouldn’t just try to feel you up or something ‘cause it seemed fun, and somewhere deep down you  _ know _ it -- even if you are acting fucking ridiculous right now.” 

“Am not,” Maka snaps. “It was a legitimate concern.” 

Now she feels dumb for even letting the thought cross her mind. Faithful Soul, with his inferiority complex and a side of intimacy issues. It’s true he would never do something to make her uncomfortable, so then…

“I thought we were on the same page,” he continues. “Thought maybe things were mutual, but I guess I was reading into it. I didn’t mean to push you.”

She blinks once, twice, tries to figure out if there’s any potential double meaning to what he just said or if she can jump to glorious conclusions. Extending one foot across to his side of the tub, she waits to catch his eye again before she speaks, “What part do you think isn’t mutual?” 

His fingers graze his ankle, and she can see the gears turning in his head, trying to parse out her statements over the last few minutes. “You said you thought about us, thought about  _ it. _ ” 

“Maybe,” Maka squeaks, trying hard to resist the urge to pull her leg back up. Instead she brings the other down, stretching out to nudge the side of Soul’s thigh. “Maybe a lot. Maybe really seriously.”  

This time he doesn’t start slowly. Keeping those burning eyes on hers, he uses her leg to drag himself close to her. Friction eased by the water, he’s there again in a second, a warm palm on her knee and his face inches from hers. “So,” he starts, glancing down her neck and collar bones. “If I were serious, you’d be okay with this?” 

“Are you?” she asks, even if she can feel the answer in his trembling hands. 

Snowy eyelashes flutter and Soul bites his lip. Maka wants to bite it too. He leans in, too close, but not close enough, and his breath burns her neck when he mumbles, “Completely.” 

Sharp teeth pinch her neck ever so gently and she can’t help but gasp his name. And when she takes in a sharp inhale of air, it’s like she’s breathing for the first time. Very suddenly, Soul is touching her everywhere, and kissing along her jaw in ways she’s only ever dreamed about. A parting squeeze to her thigh and he’s travelling up her torso, lovingly measuring the space between each of her ribs with tiny grazes of his thumb. 

Completely overwhelmed, she’s unsure what to do but grip his shoulders for dear life and call for him repeatedly. She’s certain he’s giving her a hickey but the worst part is that she loves it. After so much time dedicated to imagining how those teeth would feel on her skin, now she knows she needs them on her, everywhere, every day, because her imagination isn’t gonna cut it anymore. 

The tap is shoved uncomfortably against her back but she barely notices; Soul has her backed up against her end of the tub with a hold on her hip and a hold of her side, fingers tracing the edge of her swimsuit top. Her heart is going to burst but it’ll be a decent way to die. 

“Maka,” Soul rumbles, lips pressed against her ear. “You have no fucking idea how serious I am.” 

She shudders, trying to regain proper control over her limbs so she can drag his face out from the crook of her neck and look at him. “Then show me,” she whispers against his mouth.  _ “Kiss me.”  _

And oh how he does, like he’s drowning and she’s oxygen. Soul cups her face and anoints her forehead, cheeks, the flushing tip of her nose, before pressing his lips fervently to hers.  

Wiggling ever closer to her, crushing their bodies together, the curious fingers under her breast stray cautiously upward. Soul fiddles beneath the elastic of her top, pushing it up so slowly that Maka think she’s going to have to yank it up herself. Because as nervous as she is about what he thinks of her tits, the desire to be touched outweighs the apprehension. 

The moment she arches herself greedily into his palm, he freezes and curses under his breath. “Fuck,” he hisses, drawn out and needy. 

“What?” Maka mewls, leaning her forehead into Soul’s shoulder, combination stimulus and shyness collapsing her will to stay upright. 

He squeezes experimentally, testing the weight in his hand and the texture of her hardened nipple. “You’re soft,” he declares, reverent and hushed, as if he’s discovered something sacred and secret.  

The ability to speak English completely eradicated, Maka finds she can only moan in response and belatedly bury her mouth in his shoulder again in an attempt to stifle the sound.  Objectively, his eager inexperience is clear in his wildly roaming hands not knowing where to pause. But she’s too hot and bothered to notice the fact that he doesn’t quite know where to touch, because the important part is that he’s touching her. He’s a devil, playing her with nips and nuzzles to her jaw and a firm grasp on her ass (this time he isn’t just  _ almost _ touching it.) She can’t tell how much of it is skill on his part and how much is her being so enamoured with the heat of his skin that every touch is electric.

It’s probably a good portion of the latter, and the fact that Soul seems to be forming a reflexive knowledge of her body, like he’s cataloguing every reaction and putting that information to use  _ immediately. _

But the best part it, it’s not a casual tryst -- he said he was serious and if there’s one thing Soul isn’t, it’s dishonest.   

She can’t help but worm her way into his lap. The water sloshes around them in the tub (and probably splashes on the ground a little) but Maka isn’t paying enough attention to notice or care because her weapon is taking advantage of the access to her back to untie her top. From this position, he doesn’t have to waste any energy holding himself up, and he has all the more space to paw and grope her wantonly while her top dangles uselessly from her neck. 

Even all of this still isn’t enough. She needs to be closer.

The tub is narrow, and it’s a bit of an ordeal to get her knee on the outside of his hips so she can straddle him instead of hovering awkwardly above him, but it’s well worth it. Her arms had quickly been turning to jelly and there’s no telling how much longer she would’ve lasted like that. She’s a little smug, too. Lowering herself into his lap, she quickly realizes she’s not the only one so easily affected. Soul is as aroused as she is; his cock presses hard against the inside of her thigh and he curses when she rolls her hips forward.

Now he’s the one panting and struggling for words. “Hah, Maka, I wanna--” He ghosts his way down the dip of her waist and along the plane of her stomach until his nails trace the edge of her bottoms. “I wanna touch you.” 

Oh, god, she wants that, too. Hopefully she can handle it without igniting under the slick touch of him under water. She nods into his neck, not trusting herself enough to open her mouth again without moaning. 

Soul is slow, painfully so, and it’s hard to strike a match at such a pace, but somehow she’s still set ablaze with his finger nestling tentatively between her folds through the stretchy material of her swimsuit. Then, as if things could get any more exhilarating, he dips inside and a shiver runs down the length of her spine at the sensation. It baffles her how different it can be having Soul’s hand and not her own between her legs. 

“Ahh, Soul,” Maka whines, slowly grinding herself against him as an indicator that she needs more, now, faster _. _

Blessedly, he obeys, rubbing and stroking along her slit to the tune of her sighs. “Maka.” He cups the back of her neck and tugs her from her hiding place at the junction of neck and shoulder. “Look at me.” 

Her heart rises into her throat at the expression on his face. It’s hot and searching, his lips parted and ready to murmur her name again. Half lidded crimson stirs her and she can feel herself twitch against his fingers, his subsequent increase in pace rapidly sending her towards her peak. She claws for purchase on his arm and the edge of the tub, desperate for something to ground herself while her hips buck wildly, apparently no longer under her command.

Everything happens very suddenly when he rolls her clit between two deft fingers. Her breath hitches in her throat and her mouth drops open. Maka comes while Soul watches her face with hungry interest and continue to caress her with abandon until she stills. One last aftershock and she caves, sinking to the floor of the tub with a sigh.       

Her skin buzzes with lingering heat, though she realizes the bathwater has cooled around them. 

She blinks, and catching Soul’s glance she can tell he wants more. She thinks she wants more too, but now that she’s not pressed up against her weapon’s burning chest she’s getting cold. Face heavy with desire, he crawls toward her, but she presses a hand against his chest to halt his approach.

“Soul, wait,” she squawks. If they’re going to make a move to a bedroom, it has to be now before she gets totally absorbed in another round of heavy petting. Soul freezes, processing her words, and she hastily continues, “I think we should get out of the bath.” 

His eyebrows drop into a concerned frown before he slides away again. “Oh. Sorry. Too much.” 

“Shoot! No.” If she’s not careful, he’s going to get the wrong idea again and slip back out of her reach. “I just meant the water’s gotten cold, so we should continue in your bed. Maybe? If that’s okay?” 

Soul’s shit-eating grin makes a comeback. “That is very okay.”    


End file.
